Christmas Morning

Unlike last year, we managed to go to bed a little earlier (although, still after midnight) and slept in later. So, Mikie woke up ready to enjoy Christmas.

To list some of the gifts that he found under the tree, Mikie received:

A REAL hockey helmet from Grandma Pookie, to go with the RPI hockey jersey and hockey skates from Santa.

A birdfeeder with bird watching book from Grandma Kerrie and Grumpy Norm. Mikie is super excited to use this one. It is one of those squirrel-proof bird feeders with a cage to prevent squirrels from eating all the bird seed. Mikie doesn't quite understand that, so he keeps talking about catching the birds to keep in his cage.

Whack-a-Mole (aka "The Gopher Game") from Gram. This has proved a favorite of Mike's too, as he now holds the fastest record at 10 seconds.

Video games for his V-Smile from Grand Da. Evidently, Grand Da picks out better games than Mom and Dad, because Mikie refused to use the thing until he got his new games. One of them is an interactive story book that connects to the TV. The day after Christmas, you could hear him say "I can't go to bed, I have to read my books". What are you supposed to say to that? No more reading, go to bed!?!

And, the most anticipated present of all. . . Santa came through with Sock 'em Sock 'em Robots (or Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots as they are known to the rest of the world). Click on the picture below to view some video footage of Mikie and Mike playing his new favorite game. Since Mattel was kind enough to cheapen up the "improved" version, I edited the video down to a little over a minute so no one other than Mike had to live the eternity of playing.

Hope Santa brought you everything on your Christmas list.

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

The Christmas Story

Now that he is three, I have been trying to teach Mikie about the real story of Christmas: how Jesus was born. So far, attempts to read his children's Bible have been futile. The pictures are cartoonish and the stories don't seem to hold his interest. Usually, part way through, he starts running around yelling "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus", and I have to explain that we shouldn't just yell His name like we yell "Meatloaf".

So, I bought a pop-up book with beautiful illustrations just for Christmas. We have been reading it a few nights a week, emphasizing that it is a special story. Unfortunately, there are many words that he didn't quite understand, so I read the story in a more Mikie-friendly context. For example, "Hail, Mary" became "Hello, Mary" and "with child" became "going to have a baby".

So, on Christmas Eve, with pop-up book in hand, we headed off to meet our friends at their church's Christmas Eve Service. It was the children's service, and I thought it would be more Mikie friendly. As we waited for the service to start, Mikie sat on Auntie Katie's lap reading his special story. All of the sudden I hear a familiar voice announce "Look, Katie. This man says 'There's no room in the hotel!'" At least the story made an impression.

Before the service began, a woman came to the front to read some announcements. She started talking about the gifts people brought to the baby Jesus, and ended by talking about what gifts we could give Him today. Her intention was to plead for donations. However, Mikie heard "gifts" and told Auntie Katie, "Katie, I could give the baby Jesus 'Sock 'em Sock 'em Robots'." Being the one gift Mikie asked Santa for on THREE separate occasions, I am sure this is the only gift he could imagine anyone ever wanting.

Of course, a few days later, when I reminded him of what he said and asked if he was going to give Jesus his game, he looked at me like I was crazy.

It's the thought that counts, right?

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

Public Indecency

Let me start by saying that Mikie has been doing a great job of using the potty. So well, that, unless I see him doing a funny dance while watching TV, I don't bother harrassing him. So well that I frequently realize he left the room and used the potty only after I hear a flushing sound.

So, when Mikie told me that he didn't need to use the potty before we left the house for work, I didn't question him. Unfortunately, about 15 minutes from our house (at least 30 minutes from daycare), I heard a little voice saying, "Mom, I have to go pee-pee on the road." I have Mike to thank for teaching Mikie about going pee-pee on the road, but that's a whole other story.

It's December, we have had record amounts of snow which sits like a small mountain on either side of the one-lane road. Short of pulling in to someone's driveway, there is no good rest stop along this stretch of road. So, I drive as fast as I safely can (translation: as fast as the guy in front of me will travel) five minutes up the road to Home Depot.

As I raced into the parking lot, praying that Mikie wasn't peeing on my leather seats, I realized that Home Depot was open. Wonderful. We could use the bathroom like civilized people, rather than pee in the parking lot. So, I pull up as close as I can get to the front entrance. Unfortunately, Mikie had other plans. As I unbuckle his seat belt and inform him of my intention to use the bathroom, he yells, "No, I have to go pee pee NOW!" No sooner did I plant his feet on the ground than I see two bare cheeks facing me.

Even though he can urinate standing up (inside and "on the road"), Mikie has not even attempted "aiming" himself. Being that I was dressed for work (slacks, nice shoes, wool winter coat), and did not want to have to change his pants and underwear in the 16 degree weather, I felt it was in my best interest to help him direct his stream away from the two of us. Standing behind him and using the car door to block him to some degree, I helped Mikie melt the snow under the car. Only after I pulled his pants up did I notice two men get in their cars next to me.

And as if being caught in the act wasn't bad enough, I noticed the following signs as I got back in the driver's seat:
So, next time you are watching YouTube, if you see a 30-year old red-head helping her son urinate in the Home Depot parking lot, please remember that one day that could be you before you forward it on to your friends.

Love, the Trahans

College Bound

Obviously, he does not get this from me, having been the model student in college.

In early December, we went to our friends' Holiday party. What makes the story even funnier is that Andy & Jenny work and live at a retirement home, so the party was in one of the common rooms at the home.

Part way through the evening, Mikie told me he had to use the potty. As per usual, he waited to the last minute to tell me, and the bathroom was already occupied. He did an excellent job of holding his bladder, and managed to only get a tiny drop in his underpants before we got into the bathroom. However, being fanatical about certain aspects of cleanliness, he insisted on a new pair of underwear. Mike went out to the car to get the new underwear, but, in the interim, Mikie wanted to go back to the party. So, I put his pajamas on him, sans underwear, and let him go back to the party, figuring that when Mike returned we would put the clean underwear on.

Unfortunately, Mikie realized that it was kind of nice to not wear any underpants. And, when Mike returned, he refused to put them on.

Twenty minutes later, Mikie was seen running around with an empty case of beer on his head (picture Animal House except substitute a Sam Adams box for the lampshade). As everyone laughed at the cute little boy running around in PJs with a beer box on his head, all I could think was what a proud moment this was for me as a mom: my three year old going commando, running around like a drunk person with a beer box on his head.

Too bad I didn't have the camera.

Love, The Trahans

The Elevator Ride

I am very behind in my blogs, and before I start blogging some of our Christmas experiences, figured I should post some of the more humorous Mikie adventures before I forget them. Last month, we took Mikie to see a Providence Bruins game. We figured it was cheaper than paying for tickets to see the Boston Bruins, and he probably wouldn't know the difference.

When I was given the tickets (they were from a vendor), she said she got them for a 1:00 game, figuring that a 7:00 game would be late for a three year old. Unfortunately, I never looked at the tickets. So, at 12:30, we were sitting in our seats, waiting for the 4:00 game to start.

Rather than sit in a cold arena for 3 1/2 hours, we walked around the corner to Providence Place Mall to eat some lunch and kill time. If you haven't been to the Providence Place Mall, street level is three levels below the actual mall stores. So, we went inside and got on the first of three escalators.

No sooner had we all gotten on, when Mikie turns and announces, "This is a Dickless ride, Mom & Dad." I was stunned, and asked what he just said. Of course, he didn't repeat himself until we got on the second escalator. He turned again and said "This ride is Dickless, Mom." At this point, I was sure I heard him correctly, and in my confusion was trying to keep from laughing in his face.

When we got on the third escalator, I finally realized he was actually saying "This ride is RIDICULOUS" minus a few sylables.

He always keeps me on my toes, that's for sure.

Love,
The Trahans

Disney World

For Mikie's third birthday, we thought it would be fun to go to Disney World. In reality, it was our five year wedding anniversary and we wanted to go somewhere on vacation. And, what better place than Disney World is there to go on a family vacation?

We survived the flight down with only minor issues. I may have threatened to throw Mikie from the plane if he didn't put his seat belt back on when it was nearing time to land. Thankfully, the majority of people on the flight were families with children (go figure, a Thursday morning flight to Orlando) so I managed to avoid the dirty looks from old men in suits. And, some helpful mother offered me a lolly pop. Actually, I think she intended it as a pacifier for Mikie, but since he didn't want it, I figured I shouldn't let it go to waste.

We paid extra to have our luggage delivered to the hotel directly from the airport. This is key when traveling with a 3 year old. Any amount of money you can pay to avoid the conveyor at baggage claim is worth it. No need to worry about him sitting on it or getting his fingers caught in it. No listening to the drone of "Mommy, is that our bag? Is that our bag? Is that our bag? Where's our bag, Mommy?" We brought our bathing suits in our carry on, and headed straight for the hotel pool to relax.
Some of you might be thinking, who goes to Disney World to hang out at the pool? After all the money you spent, you should be at the parks. These people would be the same people who either don't have kids or haven't taken them to Disney World. Mikie had no idea at this point that the pool wasn't the vacation destination. In fairness, we could have taken him to any hotel with a swimming pool, and he would have come home raving that it was the best vacation ever.

Later that evening, we ventured over to the Magic Kingdom to give Mikie a real taste of Disney World. I wanted to get some mouse ears, and figured we could catch the Light Parade and fireworks. As evidence by the picture below, Mikie was beside himself at seeing Mikie and Goofy in the light parade:Shortly thereafter, a float with the hippos from "Fantasia" came by (you know, the pink ones in tutus). Mikie turned from elated to petrified. Maybe he thought she was going to crush the crocodile (he likes alligators and crocodiles). So, we left part way through the festivities.

Thankfully, his phobia of hippos did not seem to affect his sleep. He slept like a child who ran around Disney World all day and was full of energy come Friday morning.

Love, The Trahans

Mickey Mouse's House

I need to start out this post by apologizing to my Aunt Maureen. When I was 12, my sister and I flew to California to visit my Aunt Maureen, Uncle Jimmy, and cousins James and Krista who were 6 and 3 respectively. They lived near Disney Land, and, since Katie and I had never been to any Disney park, Aunt Maureen and Uncle Jim took us all for the day.

Sometime in the early afternoon, we were forced to leave the park and drive back to the house to TAKE A NAP. When Katie and I told her we didn't take naps anymore, she told us to lay down anyway. Uncle Jimmy took us back to the park later until it closed at 1am to make up for the precious time we wasted napping. However, for the last 18 years, I have harassed her about this trip, because, what 12 year old leaves Disney Land during their first trip to take a nap?

Until last month, when Mike and I took our 3 year old to Disney World. And, I realized that while Mikie insisted he was not tired, I was exhausted. Disney World is sensory overload on a good day. Imagine trying to take in the sites while running after a 3 year old. Mike and I were physically and emotionally exhausted by the end of each day. By the end of the second day, after I swore that I could never leave my child with a perfect stranger, I broke down and hired a babysitter. On our final night there, we paid $14/hour + tip + food for a perfect stranger to watch our child while we went out to dinner. It was the most expensive date ever (cost of trip to Disney, including airfare, hotel, and park admission + cost of dinner at fancy restaurant + cost of babysitter) but was the most restful time of our stay there.

So, to Aunt Maureen, I extend my sincerest apologies. I now understand that YOU needed the nap and, with all these readers as witnesses, I vow never to make fun of you again.

More mouse blogs to follow. But, for now, I'm off to bed.

Love, The Trahans

Christmas

Now that Mikie is in school, he has been learning a lot of new things. Days of the week, months of the year, seasons, the weather, even holidays. He of course is very excited about the coming of Christmas. At least once a week, the post office graciously delivers "magazines" (aka, toy catalogs) to our house. Mikie studies them like he is studying for his MCATs. I only hope he is as studious when school starts. He finds something he likes, and the conversation goes like this:

Mikie: pointing to a toy "What's this, Mom?"

Mom: "Rock 'Em, Sock 'Em Robots."

Mikie: "Read it to me, Mom."

Mom: "'A classic since 1966. Remember the fun you had competing for the title? Two contenders control the plastic boxers every move until the winner knocks loose the other’s spring-loaded head. Lots of action and competition. Will Red Rocker or Blue Bomber prevail?'"

Mikie: "I could have these robots. I could get them for my birthday."

Mom: "Your birthday is over. You can ask Santa for them, and if you are a good boy, MAYBE he will bring them to you."

Mikie: "I will write a letter to Santa so he can bring me these robots for me." (as opposed to bringing them to our house for someone else.)

I figured, since he was so into the idea of Santa, that I would read some Christmas stories, and let him watch "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown". Heck, if for no other reason than it is a welcome break from watching the "Cars" movie for the 1,000 time. Well, a week after watching the movie, we were sitting a dinner talking about holidays. I asked Mikie what happens at Christmas. Acceptable answers included "Baby Jesus is born", "Santa comes", "It snows", etc. Not Mikie. He looks at us and says "Christmas is commercial, Mom". "Christmas is a racket."

Evidently, instead of picking up on the love and acceptance in the movie, Mikie chose to remember "Christmas is a commercial racket."

Good grief.

Love, The Trahans

The Money & The Purse

Last night, Fisher Price sent us a catalog. First, let me say that I have no idea why Fisher Price started printing catalogs. Their product lines are household names sold in every store that carries toys. Why do they need to waste money printing catalogs when Toys 'R Us prints one for them? Second, I have no idea how I ended up on there mailing list.

None the less, for whatever reason we received the catalog. Mikie, with his super senses, immediately detected the presence of a "magazine" in the house. His mission, as always, to find and read said "magazine" and point out every item that he finds of interest. Today's obsession: the "lots of animals" toy, also known as, the Little People A to Z Learning Zoo.

Since it was educational (helps with learning letter recognition), and we are a bunch of suckers, Mike agreed that we would go to the story and buy this toy. Only after Mikie explained our roles in the shopping trip:

Mikie: "We will go to the store and get the lots of animals. And Dad will bring the money."

Mike: "Does Mom need to come if I have the money?"

Mikie: "Mom will come and bring her purse."

Lauren: "Does my purse have money in it."

Mikie: "No. Dad has the money."

Evidently, my roll is clear. I carry the purse. Mike carries the money. Why I bother working, I have no idea.

Love, The Trahans

Mulch, anyone?

Our newest phase of potty training: big boy underwear. With the excitement (and savings) of not going through as many diapers comes the fear of when, and where, Mikie may pee next. Since Mikie and I spend approximately 40 minutes in the car every morning and every night, I just keep praying that he can hold his bladder for more than the duration of our commute.

We returned home one evening, and no sooner did I turn around to put my purse down, than I see Mikie doing the pee-pee dance. You've all done it: knees turned inwards, ankles crossed, bobbing up and down, trying to will the urine to stay put. I asked Mikie if he had to use the potty. While he said "Yes", I quickly realized that Mikie's version of the pee-pee dance is clearly a post-pee-pee-celebratory dance. Like when you dance after scoring a touch down: he evidently dances after making a puddle on the carpet.

So, I rushed him to the potty, just in case there was more in there. Of course, there wasn't. So, I started to remove his urine stained clothes. As I took off his shoes, dirt came flying out, all over the bathroom floor. As if the puddle in the family room wasn't enough, I know get to vacuum the bathroom. I naively asked Mikie, "What did you do, roll in the dirt at school?" To which he responded with all seriousness, "I put woodchips in my shoes, Mom." Of course, how silly of me. Where else would you put woodchips, right? The child had enough woodchips in his shoes to mulch a flower bed. How he fit his feet in, I have no idea.

Love, The Trahans

Sunny Days

After a week of heat, humidity, and thunder storms in Massachusetts, we were fortunate enough to have sunny days during our trip to Pennsylvania and "Sesame Place". Or, as Mikie calls it "Elmo's World".

I have to say that Anheuser Busch could stop selling beer tomorrow and still make money. We spent $16 on parking, $45/person on admission, $12 for a locker to hold our stuff while we were in the park, $47 on food, $20 for pictures taken of Mikie with Elmo and Oscar the Grouch, and I can't even remember how much in the gift shop. And, we went on 5 rides. Or, Mikie did. Ernie's Bouncy Bed was for kids only, and we couldn't really climb on the sand slides either. So, Grandma Pookie, Mike, and I went on 3 rides. Mikie went on 5. In spite of the cost, we had a great time. We were all excited to see Cookie Monster, Big Bird, and the other characters.

Here's some highlights of our trip:

Mikie, Mom, and Cookie Monster

There are three, THREE people in this picture. . . Mikie, Dad, and The Count pose for a picture.

Mikie runs to give Elmo a hug.

We were informed by the photographer that Elmo is not a "monster", that we should call him an orange "creature" because that was less scary. Obviously, Mikie was not scared. And, I am sure the writers of Sesame Street would find it amusing to know that they have to change character names to "Cookie Creature".

The last ride of the day: Mikie bounces on Ernie's Bed. If you click on the picture, you can watch some video footage. If you listen carefully, you can hear some Mikie catch phrases such as "Man Down" and "Go Mikie Trahan!"
Shortly after filming this, I got to break the rules and climb on Ernie's Bed to retrieve the Trouble maker who PROMISED he would get off when the lady told the kids time was up. Obviously, listening and following directions are still concepts we are trying to master. Although, he was quick to listen when Grandma Pookie went to buy ice cream!

Love, The Trahans

"When I Was A Boy"

Mikie was enjoying his dinner of peanut butter on banana this evening, when he informed me that peanuts are crunchy. Every trying to infuse learning into a conversation, I ask him what the peanut butter is (smooth, creamy, soft, all would have been good answers). Mikie's answer: "it's peanut butter". I start explaining that peanut butter is smooth and creamy, and that peanuts are crunchy. Then, Mikie informs me that peanuts make teeth come out. Curious (and half wondering if he lost a tooth) I asked him how he knew this. He told me the following story:

Mikie: "When I was a boy. . . "

Mom: choking on my drink while laughing "When you were a boy?" (thinking to myself, what are you now, a girl or a man?)

Mikie: "When I was a little boy, I ate some bread and my tooth came down and fell right out."

The story went on, very serious, about opening the refrigerator and another tooth falling out, and about sleeping and climbing up, to where, I never found out. All I could focus on was "When I was a boy. . . " Next week he'll start telling me how he had to walk up hill to get to school.

While life was less exhausting, it was also far less entertaining before Mikie.

Love, The Trahans

Mikie and the "Max Sound Blaster"

One of Mikie's favorite movies is Toy Story (aka The Buzz Woody Movie). He has both a Buzz Lightyear action figure and a Sheriff Woody action figure (aka doll). At the time we bought them, I did not think that Disney could make a more obnoxious toy then these two dolls. Don't get me wrong, I love Toy Story. It is a great movie. But, when all you hear for an hour after your toddler climbs into bed with you at four in the morning is "Howdy, Partner" and "Your my favorite deputy", you would be praying for the days of silent movies.

Fast forward to August. The catalogs of halloween costumes are appearing in our mailbox. And, Mikie, flipping through "his magazines" as he likes to refer to them, sees a Buzz Lightyear costume. Not wanting to find out in a few weeks that they are sold out of his size (which happened to the dinosaur costume we looked at last year), I went online and ordered the costume. And, as all good websites do, the Disney website suggested other items that would compliment my Buzz Lightyear costume, including the "Max Sound Blaster". The description says it all:

"Defend the galaxy alongside Buzz! This awesome light-up blaster comes with 10 different sounds, and side pump to warp sounds."

For the low price of $12.99, of course I added it to my cart. I could picture Mikie in his Buzz Lightyear costume, running from door to door, armed with his "laser" yelling "TO INFINITY AND BEYOND!"

And then came UPS. Today we received the costume, complete with "Max Sound Blaster". Let's just say, Disney succeeded in creating a toy more obnoxious than those talking dolls. The "Max" in "Max Sound Blaster" stands for "Maximum Volume, Maximum Noise". The description failed to mention that there is no on/off switch and no volume control. Translation, buying this toy means an end to any peace and quiet you may have had. I am sure Disney assumed that if you were purchasing the "Max Sound Blaster", you must have a boy between the ages of 3 and 12 and that peace and quiet were words permanently blasted from your vocabulary.

Moral of the story: Think twice before buying any toy with the words "Max", "Sound", and "Blast" in the description.

Love, The Trahans

Peacock

In celebration of the fact that Mikie used the potty all day today (we'll forget the fact that he informed me this morning that I needed to clean his bed because it was "wet"), we took Mikie to Friendly's for dinner. As I told Mikie, everyone's a winner when we eat at Friendly's because Mikie gets hotdogs, french fries and ice cream, and Mom & Dad don't have to cook or clean.

So, we placed our orders and settled in to coloring and small talk while waiting for our meal. Every once in a while, Mikie likes to blurt out random words. Usually, when he gets excited, he yells "MEATBALL", "GREEN BEAN", or on occasion "CHEESEBURGER". But, this evening, while sitting at Friendly's, he turned to the table of girls behind him and yelled "PEACOCK". It may not sound funny to you, but there is something about the enthusiastic sing-song way in which he screams these random words that makes me laugh out loud.

Thankfully, the waitress brought our dinner immediately after this outburst. We have managed to convince Mikie that all restaurant personnel are taking notes to make sure he eats all of his dinner. If he does, they let the "chef" know to make his ice cream. If not, no ice cream. This ploy has worked amazingly well in that Mikie always finishes his hot dog, and intentionally stops eating his french fries before filling up so that he has room for ice cream. Well, this evening, after finishing his last bite of hot dog, he noticed our waitress at a nearby table, replacing all of the bottles of ketchup. Eager for his ice cream, he turned around and announced:

Mikie: "Look, I ate my hotdog all up!"

Waitress: "Good job! Are you going to have ice cream?"

Mikie: "Yes, bring me my chocolate monster with ears."

Waitress: "Let me finish putting away these bottles of ketchup, and I'll come back to take your order."

After "PEACOCK", this was too much for me to handle. I tried to compose myself long enough to explain our deception to the unwitting waitress, but I couldn't stop laughing.

I think next time I am having a bad day, I am going to try yelling a random word to see if it helps. If I laugh half as hard as I did this evening, it should do some good.

CHEESEBURGER!
Love, The Trahans

Mikie Did It

Mikie has adopted a new habit. . . talking about himself in the third person. Sometimes it's appropriate. For example, when he is playing a sport, he says "Mikie scores!", like he is the commentator. Other times, it is just funny.

During dinner one evening, I mentioned that "Someone put stickers in his ears at school today."

Mike: looking at Mikie "Did someone put stickers in your ears?"

Mikie: "Yes"

Mike: "Who put stickers in your ears."

Mikie: "Mikie did it."

As if there was some other kid named Mikie who did these things!

Of course, we eventually got him to admit that he was in fact the "Mikie" who put stickers in his ears, and that a more appropriate choice of words would be "I put stickers in my ears." But, the next night when I asked him who knocked over my pile of clean laundry, his response was "Mikie did it."

Who knows, maybe the kid has an imaginary friend named Mikie Trahan. Or an evil twin I don't remember giving birth to.

Love, The Trahans

Ready, Aim, Pee!

Okay, it has taken months before I finally stopped laughing long enough to grab the camera and memorialize this for all posterity. Words alone could not adequately describe Mikie's potty technique:

Mike and I had been teaching Mikie to use the potty by sitting down. I mean, the last thing I wanted was to have half my bathroom covered in urine because he realized he could aim wherever he pleased. However, we didn't realize the daycare was trying to teach him to pee standing up.

So, you can imagine my surprise one day when Mikie announced he had to use the potty. I took him into the bathroom, and placed his potty seat on the toilet. He looked at me and said, "Not like that, Mom." I asked him to show me what he meant. He proceeded to lift the seat, leaning forward to hold the seat against the back of the toilet like so:

The first time, I was too shocked to grab the step stool. And, since our toilets are standard size (unlike the miniature bowls at daycare), and he wasn't wearing his shoes, he didn't exactly have enough height. So, while he had the best of intentions, he ended up "resting" on the edge of the bowl, rather than standing over it. Before I could compose myself, he had peed, with some urine trickling into the bowl, and some trickling onto the floor. As you can see, he has now perfected his technique!

One day, he will despise me for posting this picture on the internet. But, I laugh every time I see those cheeks!

Love, The Trahans

Fireworks

For the first time in three years, Mike and I managed to see fireworks on the 4th of July. Kind of. Actually, it was the 6th of July, since our town chose to do their display on Friday. And, Mike didn't really see the fireworks. . .

Evidently, the fireworks display is quite the event in Northbridge. The fire company brought one of the firetrucks for the kids to see. There was a moon bounce, fried dough (the New England equivalent of funnel cake), vendors selling glowing necklaces and glasses. Unfortunately, we didn't know that there would be anything to do other than sit in a field waiting for it to get dark, so we didn't show up until 15 minutes before hand. Now we know for next year. We were in time to sing the Star Spangled Banner. Kind of. The high school student who sang the National Anthem did not know the words, pausing for minutes while she tried to read her print out in the dark. While I was shocked that someone could be in high school and not know the National Anthem, I guess we can't really blame her since many celebrities who sing at sporting events also manage to mess it up.

Here's the crew, waiting for the show to start:

Mikie had a good time watching the crowd while drumming on the bleachers with GrandDa:The oversized headphones were a futile attempt to mask the sound of the fireworks. Unfortunately, Mikie was tramatized after the first boom, screaming "they're trying to get me".

Mike graciously volunteered to walk him back to the car while the rest of us watched the show. He managed to watch most of them from the parking lot, while Mikie distracted himself with episodes of "Little Einsteins".

Happy Belated Independence Day.

Love, The Trahans

Beach Bums

As a belated 4th of July treat, GrandDa and Auntie Katie came to visit on Thursday evening. Since both of them have bum legs, we decided to spend Friday at the beach.

After breakfast a la Grumpy (aka Grandpa Norm), we sprayed ourselves with Coppertone and built sandcastles on the beach. Mike and Mikie braved the waves, for about 60 seconds, until Mike realized his sunglasses, which were on his head, were washed out to sea.

Mikie kept running back to shore to inform us he "was scared of the water". Immediately following his announcement, he would grab Mike by the hand, drag him toward the water yelling "Let's do it again, Dad!". Obviously, he wasn't that scared.

Auntie Katie and Mike helped Mikie build a sandcastle. Actually, Mike buried his feet in the sand, while Mikie and Katie filled the bucket. After watching them attempt to flip the full bucket over a few times without success, Mike twisted around to help them out (making sure not to unbury his feet).

Mikie was gracious enough to pose with his sandcastle. . .
long enough for me to snap a picture before he destroyed it (he's all boy!)

And, as with all trips to Sam's Snack Bar, Mikie ended the day by helping himself to the soft serve ice cream. It's nice to have friends in high places. . . namely grandparents who own a soft serve ice cream maker.

Love, The Trahans

Watering the Grass

First, let me start by saying that watering a large yard with a traditional sprinkler is not fun. And, for everyone who reads this and thinks "Why don't they get an irrigation system installed?", we plan to. After we sell the BMW and buy a shed for Steve the Tractor.

So, we went for a walk after dinner one night, and Mikie kept running into all the neighbors sprinklers. In my infinite wisdom, I cajoled him back to our own yard by promising to turn on our sprinkler. This way, we could water the lawn, bathe the child, and wear him out, all before bedtime. Click on the picture below to see what fun ensued:

I apologize for the video quality; I used my camera rather than grab the camcorder.

Love,
The Trahans

The Move (aka Guess this Food)

Let me preface this story by saying how much I despise moving. When we moved into our house in Maryland, I swore I would never move again. Then we moved to Massachusetts, which was done in three stages: move to the apartment, move everything else out of Maryland, move everything into the Massachusetts house. And, I will admit that Mike dealt with a lot of the moving because I despise moving.

In spite of this, Katie needed help moving, so, of course, I went to help. Of course, having dislocated her knee that morning (read "The Fall" below), I ended up doing a lot more packing and lifting than I bargained for. More disgusting than all other tasks was emptying the refrigerator. These are some of the things I found:

WARNING: these pictures are not for those with a weak stomach. Consult your physician before viewing. Discontinue reading of this post immediately if you experience nausea.

Item #1: And the mystery item is. . . strawberries!

Item #2:

Survey says. . . Salsa! (I was seriously guessing cat food).

On a more positive note, Katie and I had quite a few laughs at her domestic negligence. And, her fuzzy roommates kept me company Saturday morning while I finished packing.

The cripple "helping" (translation: sitting on the couch trying not to injure herself).

Henry, trying to wrap himself in tissue paper for the trip.

Bud, afraid we would leave him behind, packed himself in a tupperware tote.

This time, I am serious when I say "no more moving". At least not for another 5 years.

Love, The Trahans

Bucket Head

After having dealt with one injured family member (namely Auntie Katie), Mikie figured I might miss playing the role of Florence Nightingale.

I got a call from the daycare two days after returning from Maryland. Evidently, one of the little girls threw water at Mikie. Except, instead of just throwing the water, she threw the whole bucket. It hit Mikie in the head and cut his eye. They assured me it wasn't deep, but might need a butterfly stitch because of the location.

I immediately left work and drove to get him. I was greeted at daycare by the following sight:

Mikie, who had been sitting next to the teacher, soaking wet in his bathing suit, jumped up, proudly shouting "Look, Mom, I got a boo-boo on my eye!". Jillian, Mikie's friend, was following me around saying "Is Mike gonna be okay?" and "I'm sorry, Mike". Too which Mikie responded with "Jilly gave me a boo boo!" I was frantically trying to dry Mikie off, change him into clothes, console Jillian, listen to the teacher who was apologizing, and digest the situation without crying at the sight of my beautiful child's face.

Unfortunately, between water play and the extra attention, Mikie was enjoying himself too much to leave with me. So, I naively promised that after we went to see the doctor we could get ice cream. One ice cream can't hurt. And, he's injured!

30 minutes later, we were fast approaching the doctor's office. In spite of the fact it was not yet 5 o'clock, and they are open until 8, I got the answering service. As I pulled off the exit ramp to go to the pediatrician's, they called me back to tell me to go directly to the ER in case he needs stitches. 45 minutes later, we arrived in Worcester at UMass Memorial. Dressed in my work clothes (translation: slacks with heels), I carry my 37-lb 2-1/2 year old, his diaper bag, my purse, and his Buzz Lightyear action figure through the construction zone, into the hospital, and around the inside to the ER. After checking in, physically and emotionally exhausted, I settled down, expecting a long wait.

The first thing Mikie saw: the cleaning woman's cart parked outside the bathroom. He kept pulling me, saying "Let's check it out, Mom". Trust me, he doesn't get it from me, but the kid loves to clean. To distract him from that (and the automatic doors that exit the ER) I showed him a hiding spot under the console table between the couches in the waiting room (yes, this ER was much nicer than any other I have been in). Of course, right after he wedged himself and Buzz under the table, they called our name. So, I literally dragged my child out from under the table by his feet, threw him over my shoulder and carried him back to the registration desk.

Charmer that he is, the staff loved him, and we were in and out of the ER within an hour. But, not before he managed to score a grape popsicle from the doctor in the pedes unit. . . without even asking! She heard him say, "I want ice cream, Mom", after they put drops in his eye to check that his cornea wasn't scratched and magically she reappeared with a popsicle.

An hour later, after we arrived back home and ate dinner, I had to take him back out for the ever promised ice cream. Because, as I found out, if you promise a kid an ice cream, a popsicle from a doctor doesn't count.

And, when the ice cream truck came by the following day, Trouble managed to guilt Mike and I into getting him ANOTHER ice cream.

Let's just say that three ice creams in two days is a lot of sugar for a child who's only source of sugar is fruit. Talk about high energy!Now, he looks like the Hockey Player he aspires to be (with a few extra teeth). Although, with all that ice cream, they should rot away in no time!

Love, the Trahans

Monkeying Around Town

While I was playing nurse and moving crew to Auntie Katie, Mike and Mikie were back in Massachusetts monkeying around.

They went to the beach on Friday to see Grandma Kerrie. Mikie conned Grandma Kerrie into walking him down to the water's edge (translation: he dragged her into the water until her shoes and jeans were saturated). And, while he didn't admit to it, I am sure she and Grumpy Grandpa Norm let Mikie make himself a tasty ice cream treat. After leaving the beach they headed to a local playground in Westerly and found a zip line (or zipper line as Mikie calls it) that Mikie rode back and forth more than a dozen times and made a couple new friends.

On Saturday, they ventured to Southwick's Zoo, which is only 15 minutes from our house. Mikie had a great time. Mike let him take a picture of the giraffe. Guess which picture the pint-sized version took:

They also checked out the monkeys and lions. Here are some other amusing pictures from the trip:

The two monkeys.

Mikie with his goat friend.

Love, The Trahans

The Fall

So, last weekend, I flew down to Maryland to help my sister pack and move. Katie, in the ultimately ploy to avoid doing any work herself, dislocated her knee before I arrived. And, because she is my sister, and the story makes me laugh, I am going to further humiliate her by posting it here:

It is 5am on Thursday, June 14th. My sister is in the shower, getting ready for the last day of school. She turns off the water, reaches for a towel, and slips, knocking her right knee into the side of the tub. Immediately, she knows she dislocated it. . . partly because she had dislocated her left knee two weeks before my wedding. . . and partly because it was rotated 90 degrees from where it should have been. First thought, call 911.

So, she crawls down the hall to the bedroom to get her cell phone. Unfortunately, as she talks to the operator, she realizes that the apartment door is locked (deadbolt and all). The operator informs her that if she cannot unlock the door, they will have to break it down. My sister calls Fabrice, hoping he can meet them at the door and unlock it, but he is an hour away. Fabrice calls his cousin, Basil (pronounced Bah-zeel), who lives in the same apartment complex and has a spare key. The only problem is, my sister had the locks changed a month ago, and forgot to give Basil a new key.

Shortly after hanging up with 911, the fire department bangs down the door. And in runs Basil and two firefighters, to find my sister, laying soaking wet, and naked (except for a towel) on the bed. Basil gives her a shirt, but she can't get anything over her knee without causing excruciating pain. So, naked from the waist down, they roll her onto a back board, and begin carrying her out of the apartment.

Evidently, trouble ensued as the two firemen holding her head were rather large (read: drank too much beer at the firehouse). My sister's hallway is about 2-3 feet wide, and turns 90 degrees at one point. So, my sister heard the following conversation as they tried to carry her out of her bedroom:

Fireman #1: "Should we be the ones in here?"

Fireman #2: "Why not?"

Fireman #1: "Well, that hallway is kind of narrow. Do you think we will get stuck?"

Fireman #2: "We'll just suck it in."

At which point, my sister started laughing so hard, she was shaking (which only hurt her knee more).

In addition to "sucking it in", they had to strategically lower her head and raise her feet to an almost vertical position in order to navigate the turns down the hall.

Upon arriving to the ER, still naked from the waist down, she had X-rays. The orderly, not knowing she was naked, kept trying to move her towel.

Finally, she was discharged, knee popped back into place, and equipped with crutches. Basil had the foresight to bring her underwear and clothes, but forgot socks and shoes. So, the hospital gave her a pair of socks to leave in. Because, when you have little enough traction with crutches, you want to wear socks on a slippery floor.

When she arrived back at her apartment, she found the door hanging open. It was mishapen from the force of the fire company. The deadbolt was broken off in the lock, and the door frame was broken. Amazingly, no one had robbed her while she was gone. I had to call a locksmith to come to her apartment before I flew down there so that we weren't sleeping in an unsecure building (she didn't live in the best neighborhood).

I told her for Christmas I am going to get her one of those medic alert necklaces (the one's with the lady that cries "I've fallen, and I can't get up). I am also going to install a phone in her bathroom, and leave an emergency kit of clothes on her toilet to avoid future naked trips to the hospital. On the plus side, I told her she could have picked up a new husband. Of course, given her luck that day, it most likely would have been some toothless orderly with a record, not a doctor.

Love, The Trahans

"Squirt Me With the Hose"

After Arcangelo's party, his big sister, Jalysa, and her friends decided to cool off by squirting each other with the hose. Mikie, ever the lover of water, begged Mike and I to squirt him with the hose too. Since we had a spare change of clothes, we took off his shoes and turned him loose.

Within minutes, he was running through the front yard, squealing with delight, soaked from head to toe. The most amusing part was that he thought he was as cool as his cousin Jalysa. Between screams (from both him and the three girls), you could hear him yelling "Come on, guys" and "Squirt me, Di Di".

Eventually, we needed to take off his shorts because every time he ran, they fell off his behind.
Nice butt!

Unfortunately, when I picked him up from daycare on Tuesday, I realized that we taught Mikie a bad habit. His sneakers and clothes were saturated with water. When I asked the teacher what happened, she told me that she started filling the wading pool for water play, but Mikie kept running in front of the hose yelling "Squirt Me With the Hose!"

His sneakers dried out two days later, but the lights in the one shoe are now permanently lit.

Love,
The Trahans

Happy Birthday, Arcangelo!

So, this weekend, Arcangelo turned one year old. We went down to Providence for the party. Here are some of the pictures:

Mikie and Arcangelo go for a ride in the wagon.

"Cake, cake, cake. . . " Aunt Arlene made two delicious cakes shaped like our favorite fuzzy monster, Elmo.

Arcangelo didn't care for cake; but, ever the gracious host, he sat contentedly watching the rest of us enjoy it. In contrast, Mikie bypassed lunch and ran around so that he had room for a bigger piece of cake.

Arcangelo enjoyed opening his presents. . .

and especially enjoyed reading his cards. I wish some of his manners rubbed of on his older cousin.

Tired from the excitement of turning a year, he kicked back to snuggle with Uncle Mike.

Happy Birthday, Arcangelo!

Love, The Trahans

Bathroom Humor

Somehow, my most amusing Mikie anecdotes seem to center around our attempts to use the potty.

For example, there was our trip to Olive Garden for dinner where I took Mikie to use the restroom. Only when I passed the row of urinals on the way to the stall did I realize I walked right into the men's room (the male voices didn't tip me off). After making our escape to the women's room, I fell on the floor of the stall laughing. Mikie didn't quite understand what was so funny.

Recently, we have started rewarding Mikie for using the potty by giving him baseball or hockey cards. Being two, he thinks this is really cool. . . like having a real baseball or hockey player. And, it is much cheaper than buying him ice cream or a toy. We were out one day looking at new cars. While Mike was off trying to convince one sales guy that we really were just looking and had no intention of buying a car, Mikie decided he needed to use the bathroom. Without warning, I saw him stop, and then noticed a tiny trickle dripping down his leg. I quickly ran him to the bathroom, before he could leave a puddle. When I was done changing him, I told him to wait so I could use the potty. While he stood there, we had the following conversation:

Mikie: "Did you use the potty, Mom?"

Lauren: "Yes."

Mikie: "Yeah, Mommy. You go pee-pee in the potty."

Mikie: (a few minutes later while I am washing my hands) "You need a hockey player, Mom."

Combined with the serious look on his face, this was one of the funniest things he could have said to me. I could picture myself on a game show. . . Bob Barker saying "Lauren Trahan, you used the potty. Tell her what she's one, Johnny." And the announcer voice saying "Well, Bob, it's a new hockey player!"

Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, I thanked him and ushered him out of the bathroom.

One day, when he is in his twenties (and hopefully, potty trained), I will print these posts for him to laugh at.

Incidentally, he never did give me a card.

Love,
The Trahans

Mini Goofballs

In our effort to keep Mikie entertained (and burn off extra energy before bedtime), we recently took Mikie to the miniature golf course near our house. It has a farm and ice-cream stand and 18-hold mini-golf course, so there is plenty to do.

Mike and I thought we were going to play mini-golf, but Mikie taught us a new sport --- "Mini Goofballs". It is played on a mini-golf course, but is faster paced, like hockey. You hit the ball towards the hole, and run after it, hitting it again while it is still moving. Unlike hockey, there is no goalie, and obviously, no ice. You also don't observe traditional golf etiquette of taking turns; Mikie's turn was whenever he wanted to play. And, repeating a hole is allowed if the other players are taking too long.

As you can see from the pictures, Mikie is a natural. Mike and I never quite mastered it, following the more traditional mini-golf game play. But, we had a great time. And, ever the ham, Mikie amused onlookers with his speed and enthusiasm. I guess watching a two year old run after a golf ball yelling "LET'S PLAY MINI-GOOFBALLS!" is rather entertaining.

And, logically, what do you do after tiring out a toddler with 18-holes of Mini-Goofballs? Feed him ice cream, of course! Amazingly, he still went to bed and slept soundly (God was smiling on us that night!)

Love,

The Trahans

What's That Noise?

Tonight, Mikie and I met Mike for dinner at TGI Fridays (see post below). After dinner, I got the task of taking Mikie to the bathroom to change his diaper and clean him up while Mike payed the bill.

Anyone who has ever seen the changing tables in restaurants can understand that my 3-ft, 36-lb toddler does not fit on it. Even if he wasn't tall, I feel the need to hold the table up, not trusting it to support his weight. So, most times, I stand trying to block him from unlocking the door, and change him standing up. I typically use the handicapped stall because the door is far enough from the toilet that Mikie doesn't splash or perpetually flush the toilet while I struggle to change him. The only problem is that the handicap stall also has more room for Mikie to try and manuever away from me.

So here we are: me crouching in dress clothes, back against the stall door, Mikie, pants around his ankles, butt-naked, trying to run away from me while I try and get a new Pull-up on him. All of the sudden, he hears the woman in the next stall. He looks at me and asks his favorite question, "What's that noise, Mom".

Knowing that the woman in the next stall can here everything I say, and not wanting to embarass her by saying, "That's someone going pee-pee in the potty", I answer, "I don't know." As the words come out of my mouth, I am praying this ends the conversation, at the same time knowing he is too smart to know I am lying.

Realization slowly sinks in, and as I hurry to pull up his pants and rush out of the bathroom he shouts, "IT'S A BOY! IT'S A BOY, MOM. A BOY GOING PEE-PEE IN THE POTTY!"

I don't even remember my response to that one.

Note to self, don't lie to a two-year old.

Love,
The Trahans

Hard Day

After a busy day at work, I picked up Mikie at daycare and we headed back towards home. I realized that we needed to run some errands, so I called Mike and we agreed to meet for dinner before shopping.

After getting Mikie out of the car, I reach for his hand to walk through the parking lot. Usually, Mikie likes to walk (run, jump, fidget) everywhere. However, this evening he pointed at the trunk and said "I need my stroller, Mom". Okay, this is new. Too exhausted to fight with him or carry him, I grab the stroller and strap him in. As we start towards the restaurant, he said "This was a hard day." Trying hard not to laugh at him, I ask why it was a "hard day". He informed me "I played hockey. . . I'm tired. . . I need to sleep in my bed."

Oh to have his life. . .

Love,
The Trahans

The Great Escape

Having peed in his sneakers earlier in the day (see the "Adventures in Potty Training" post below), Mikie was stuck playing inside until I could find him another pair of shoes. Since I needed to go shopping for some spring clothes, Mike decided he would stay home with Mikie while I drove to the mall.

By the time I returned (3 hours later), Mikie was anxious to get outside. Still wearing only a Pull-up and t-shirt, I made him try on the shoes to see if they fit. Unfortunately, new Stride Rite sneakers are about as flexible as bricks. So, I couldn't tell where his toe was. I figured at least we could take him out of the house. We could drive up to the Stride Rite outlet and have the sales girl check his size. If they didn't fit, we could buy another pair.

I went upstairs to get Mikie a pair of pants so we could go out to the store. When I came back down, the first thing I noticed was that the door to the deck was open. I called Mikie's name, but got no response. I looked at Mike, who was watching TV on the couch, and asked "Did you open the back door?" Without waiting for a response, I ran outside in time to see Mikie, still wearing only a t-shirt, Pull-up and sneakers, running through the yard, shrieking with delight. He turned and headed towards the front yard. Thankfully, I can still run faster than him, and managed to scoop him up before any of the neighbors noticed.

As I carried the little exhibitionist inside, he looked at me and said "Mom, it's freezing out. I need some pants."

Since he obviously had cabin fever, we scrapped the plans to go back to the store, put on his pants, and went outside to play. My only regret is that we didn't have the camcorder out to document his escape.

Love,
The Trahans

Adventures in Potty Training

Mike and I were recently reading "Toddler Bargains" (a consumer review of all things marketed to toddlers), trying to figure out what carseat to buy, now that Mikie is about an inch away from outgrowing his current one. As I scan the table of contents, the words "Disposable Training Pants and other wastes of money" jump off the page. Of course, as a parent who is spending a small fortune on Pull-ups, of course I am intrigued.

The theory is that a child who uses Pull-ups is less inclined to use the potty as a child who wears underwear or cloth diapers. Pull-ups are designed to absorb a small lake's worth of urine. So, a child never feels the discomfort of being wet. Plus, they don't have to stop what they are doing to go use the potty.

Mikie does use the potty. He can hold his bladder all night (10-11 hours), and he will tell you that he has to use the potty. Provided he doesn't have anything better to do. So, when he is stalling at bedtime, naptime, or before leaving for school in the morning, Mikie will use the potty. In the middle of the day when he is busy playing, fat chance.

So, this weekend, armed with my new found knowledge, we let Mikie put on a pair of Elmo underwear after using the potty. He and Mike got dressed, and went outside to play hockey while I took a shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear voices in the house. I call downstairs, asking Mikie if he needed to go pee-pee in the potty. I realize, as he comes to the bottom of the stairs, that he is now wearing just his t-shirt and a Pull-up. He yells proudly up the stairs "I did pee-pee on the driveway, Mom."

In truth, pee trickled down both legs, soaking his pants, socks, and SHOES, before making a nice puddle that flowed down the driveway.

On the plus side, at least he was outside.

The moral of the story: don't listen to everything you read.

Love,
The Trahans

Mikie Mike and the Funky Bunch

Move over, Mark Wahlberg, there's a new kid in town. Mikie is ready for his new career. . . Tommy Hilfiger underwear model. Or (more accurately) Huggies Pull-up model.

We took Mikie to get his haircut at Snip-its. Imagine a kid-friendly equivalent of the Hair Cuttery (although geared more towards girls than a Cartoon Cuts). When you are done getting your hair cut, the stylist gives you a ticket to put in a machine, and it spits out a prize. This visit's prize was a tatoo! Of course, we couldn't leave the shopping center without putting it on. When we got home, Mikie was quick to remove his shirt and show off for the camera. He also has been running around daycare, pulling up his sleeve, waving his upper arm in everyone's face.

What is it? That colorful blob is actually a rainbow that says "Get Crazy" on it. Like Mikie needed a tatoo to tell him that.

Alas, Mark Wahlberg has nothing to fear. His career is safe. Mikie has informed us he wants to play hockey. On our ride home from visiting Gram and Diane last night, Mikie proclaimed he didn't want to play with his friends, he wanted to play hockey on the ice with "the other boys". When I asked who "the other boys were" (naively thinking he meant the neighbors), he said "The hockey players." On further inquiry, he announced he wants to play with "The Boston Bruins". We informed him he needs to accomplish a few other things first: get bigger and stronger, go to school, learn to skate. . .

I don't know any other 2 year old who loves hockey as much as Mikie. I wonder if Mike is showing him "Miracle" 24/7 when I am not around.

Go Bruins!

Love,

The Trahans

Missing Brain Cells

Of all the forgetful things I have done this week, this one takes the cake. I dropped Mikie off at daycare this morning. I always lock my car, even though I am only inside for a few minutes, because my purse, wallet, iPod, cell phone, Palm Pilot, projects for work, are all in that car. If I lost them, I wouldn't be able to function correctly.

Evidently, even not having lost them, I am having trouble functioning.

After saying goodbye to Mikie, I walk back out to my car. I press the unlock button on the key, and open the door. I get in, close the door, and go to put the key in the ignition. The first thing I notice is that someone moved my seat back. I know I didn't drive to the daycare with it that far back, so who moved it. The second thing I notice is a red snow scraper on the passenger's seat. Well, that is odd also, since mine is black. As I look around, I realize this is not my stuff. I am willing my brain to understand what is going on. Slowly, I realize THIS IS NOT MY CAR.

Still confused, I sit there trying to comprehend how my keys unlocked someone else's car. Then, it dawns on my I should get out of the car before someone sees me and calls the cops. I make my escape and quickly get in MY car, the blue Honda Civic parked one space over. Now that I have escaped without anyone noticing my mistake, I have more time to process what just happened. Evidently, I didn't notice with the sun shining in my eyes that the Honda Civic I was getting into was black, not blue (although, all the salt on both cars didn't help either. . . they both looked gray). And, I am assuming that my electronic key actually opened my car, and that, similar to many trusting people who live in rural areas, this person did not feel the need to lock her car while dropping her child off at daycare.

Thankfully, it is Friday. Because I need to start over, hopefully with more synapses firing than I had this week.

Happy Friday.

Love,
The Trahans

Let Them Eat Jelly!

Everyone we know thinks Mikie looks like Mike. And, I think he has a lot of my sister's personality traits. But, he did inherit one thing from me. . . a love of peanut butter. From age three through high school, I ate a peanut butter sandwich every day for lunch. On bread, apples, bananas, with or without jelly. I love peanut butter. Mikie is unfortunate in that his daycare is peanut free. So, to make up for the fact that he can't eat peanut butter at lunch, he demands it at other times (breakfast, dinner, bedtime). And, his favorite way to eat it is on a banana, just like his mom.

So, after a full morning of playing in the snow yesterday, Mikie and I came inside to refuel with a lunch of peanut butter on bananas. We sat down, side by side, armed with our bananas and a jar of Skippy between us. Mikie doesn't even like to bother cutting it. He holds it, peeled half-way, like he is going to eat it. I smear some peanut butter on the top, and he bites it off. We repeat this process until the banana is gone.

After he finished his banana, I started to peel my own. Boy was I niave to think I could enjoy my lunch in peace. The following conversation ensued:

Mikie: "I want more peanut butter on 'nana, Mom".

Lauren: "But, this is my banana. You just ate yours."

Mikie: "But, I want more 'nana."

Lauren: "Then what am I supposed to eat?"

Mikie: "You eat jelly on bread."

Well, with such a persuasive argument (and knowing that there were three more bananas), what more could I do than give him my banana. He left to play, returning five minutes later while I was in the midst of eating my new banana, and tried to demand a third. I took a new approach and told him he wasn't hungry, a statement he didn't challenge.

Later that night, Mike and I returned home, after hiring a babysitter to watch Mikie so we could go out to dinner. We found that Mikie didn't want the meatloaf I made, so she gave him peanut butter on banana. Actually, peanut butter on TWO bananas. So, he has officially broken his banana eating record of three bananas in one day!

Too bad we don't live in a more tropical climate. Having a banana tree would definitely save us some money, and trips to the grocery store.

Love,
The Trahans

Buried Again

We had ONE day last week without ANY snow on our lawn. On Saturday the 10th, the weather started warming up. By Wednesday night, it was so warm, Mike wanted to eat outside (for reference, so warm was in the 60s). The last of the snow on our lawn had finally melted. Even on Thursday night, it wasn't bitterly cold. I actually thought that Punxsutawney Phil might be right. . . maybe winter was over.

Then I woke up. Actually, I was already awake, dressed, and at work, watching snowflakes fall past my window around 9am on Friday. If we were in Maryland, I would have argued that the ground was too warm for it to accumulate. But, we were in Massachusetts, where I continue to see people walking out on the lakes to check their ice fishing traps when it is 70 degrees outside. So, when the meteorologists say you are going to get up to a foot of accumulation, they are typically right on.

Here are some great pictures outside Crabtree as the snow was falling:

There is a beautiful pond buried under all that snow. And, the rhododendrons had buds, prior to all the snowfall.This is the picturesque New England that I love. . . when you don't have to go anywhere or shovel anything.

Then came the drive home. It typically takes me about 35 minutes to drive the 27 miles home from work. On Friday, it took me over an hour and a half. I didn't have any issue with traction on the road, in spite of the fact that the snow was falling faster than the plows could clear it. My problem was I had to stop SIX times to clear ice off my windshield and windshield wipers.

When I arrived home, I got stuck at the bottom of the driveway. For the third time that day, Mike had to shovel our driveway. And, our neighbor, taking pity on Mike's determination not to buy a snow blower until the summer, helped clear the bottom third with her snow blower.

By Saturday morning, after the snow subsided, we had given up on shoveling. We paid someone to plow the driveway, then spent two hours just clearing the front walkway, and the small amount of snow that the plow left behind. Again, our neighbor came over with his snow blower to clear the mound of snow the town plow decided to dump in our driveway after we had just finished shoveling. Mike swears that our next house will have a shorter driveway. Since I hate moving, I think investing in a snow blower, or a truck with a plow, is the more appealing option.

Mikie, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed himself. Probably because he did a minimal amount of snow removal. Or, because his "snow removal" method tended to involve eating it. First, he tried sledding. In spite of how icy the snow was, there seemed to be too much friction, so he didn't get a lot of speed (he actually got stuck halfway down the hill). So, we tried building a snowman. The only problem was that the snow was icy, not wet and sticky. We couldn't even make a snowball.

Next, we decided to walk into the backyard and check out the swing set. This was easier said then done. Evidently, 36 pounds (38 with all of his snow gear) is not heavy enough to break through the snow. So, Nanook Trahan ran across the snow like a speed skater. Because the neighbors warned me not to lose him in the snow (I don't know how I could, the snow was a foot deep and he was dressed head to toe in royal blue) I was frantically trying to keep up with him. This was difficult since I kept sinking up to the middle of my calves in snow. To Mikie's dismay, when we reached the swing set, he discovered the sandbox was full of snow and the slide was full of snow and ice. So, all our efforts were for naught.

After our trek back to the front yard, Mikie suggested we play hockey. It is quite a sight to see a two year old running around with a full size hockey stick, screaming "I shoot the puck, Mom" and "Pass it to me, Mom". He's actually getting pretty good (further justification in Mike's mind to get him ice skates).

I finally coerced him inside with the promise that he could take a bath in the "bubble tub". His gloves are still saturated with water from all the snow he ate and puddles he splashed in, so I don't envision him going out to play again for a few days. Fortunately for him, if the February snow storm was any indication, it will take us a month for all this snow to completely disappear again. Which may mean an outdoor Easter egg hunt will be pretty challenging. Hopefully, they don't have as much snow in Pennsylvania or New Jersey.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Love, The Trahans