Mikie the Inventor

Okay, Mike and I debated as to whether or not this was appropriate to post. In the end, I wanted to document for my future daughter-in-law so that she knows exactly what she is getting herself into. . .

There was a science fair at school last month. The kids who entered were supposed to come up with an invention, build it for less than $30, and write a report about it. We ambitiously thought it would be a good way for him to do something he loves (use his imagination, build things) while encouraging him to write. Just like Flint Lockwood (and if you don't know who that is, you should rent "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" immediately).Unfortunately, we procrastinated on the report. You can't blame us. He came up with the invention the weekend before the fair. The report was really involved given the fact Mikie is 5 years old. We didn't want to type it for him as that defeated the purpose of practicing his writing AND set a bad precedent that we would do his homework for him. But, it's hard enough to get the kid to write a sentence, so a whole report was not something I was looking forward to.

Long story short, we never got the report done. We had an invention but told Mikie he couldn't submit it to the science fair. As a consolation prize for doing such a good job inventing, I convinced his teacher to let him bring it in for show and tell and give a verbal report to his friends so that he could feel special.

Clearly, I didn't need to boost his self esteem to encourage him to invent. Because he has continued to come up with ideas for new inventions. None as memorable as this evenings. I was bathing Hannah in one bathroom. Mike came in and informed me that Mikie just came up with a new invention while using the other bathroom. My brain immediately thought of something like a bidet or an automatic toilet paper dispenser. Not Mikie. His invention? A penis that poop comes out of. Because trying to wipe your own butt is way too inconvenient.

I hope God is taking notes so he doesn't make the same mistake next time he is creating life. . .

Only Mikie.

Love, The Trahans

Tea Time

For Mother's Day, Mike bought me a new HD camcorder. To test it out, I recorded Hannah playing. Her new favorite activity is playing Susie homemaker. She likes to feed us, either pretend tea party, or her goldfish snack. We bought her a little kitchen, so that she can stop pilfering plates and utensils out of the dishwasher.

In an effort to figure out what size dress to order for Auntie Katie's wedding next month, Hannah modeled a bunch of different dresses one evening. She was so enamored with herself, wiggled away, grabbed her tea cups and played hostess to Mike and I. Frankly, it was so stinking cute, I couldn't help buy let her stay up late and play. To see for yourself, click here.

Cheers!

Love, The Trahans

This Moment Brought To You By Mikie

You'd think after five and a half years, I would learn to watch what I say around Mikie. . .

Sunday, May 9th. Time = 3pm. It's Mother's Day, but, because I am heading out of town on business tomorrow, Mikie and I head out to run some important errands: get a hair cut, pick up business cards at Staples, take Mikie for ice cream, go to Target. . .

Mikie: "Why can't we go to ice cream first?"

Mom: "Because, if Staples doesn't have mommy's business cards done, they are going to have to keep working FOR FREE while we get ice cream."

Mikie: "Why?"

Mom: "Because I need those cards before the store closes today."

Fast forward a few minutes. We are now in Staples. I inform the clerk that I placed an order for business cards the day before, but that I'm not sure if they are ready yet.

Clerk: "I'll check. What's your name?"

Mom: "Trahan, Lauren. Someone was supposed to call me, but I didn't get a message, so I'm not sure if they're ready yet."

Mikie: "And if they aren't, YOU have to keep working FOR FREE!"

At that moment, the clerk looks up at me and hands me the box of business cards. Unable to avoid her gaze, I chuckle, wanting to say, "thankfully, no one has to do THAT."

Sure that was awkward. But, I can't imagine if he regurgitated EVERYTHING I said. . .

Love, The Trahans

Mr. Sandman

When Mikie was Hannah's age, it seemed like he was trying to bring home the playground one shoeful at a time. Kind of like Tim Robbins in "The Shawshank Redemption", except not as subtle.

Granted, that was when he was a toddler. Now, he's big. He's in school. He's reading. He runs around and pretends to be Luke Skywalker or Anakin, or whatever other action figure comes into his head.

Or so I thought. He came inside to help me drop Hannah off at daycare. For everyone who doesn't have young children, our daycare, like others we've been at, requires you to take off your shoes in the toddler room (being that infants and toddlers like to crawl and occasionally lick the floor). As we were putting our shoes back on to leave, Mikie started the following conversation:

Mikie: "Why is there always sand in my shoes?"

Mom: sarcastically "Maybe because you like to roll in the sand."

Mikie: seriously "Or maybe because I buried my sneakers yesterday."

Are you kidding me? How does one take off their shoes and bury them at recess without one of the many teachers and aides noticing?

Fast-forward eight hours later. After picking Mikie up from school, I am helping to buckle him in the car. I notice an immense amount of sand in his ear. He truly looked like the victim of a craft project gone awry: the kind where you spray glue on the page and then sprinkle sane over top. Except someone used his ear instead of paper. I can't help it, I have to ask:

Mom: "Mikie, how did you get so much sand in your ears?"

Mikie: "Because I buried myself in the sandbox."

Mom: "What? You buried yourself in the sandbox!?!"

Mikie: "Except my shoes."

Okay, because that makes it better. Well, my kid suffocated on sand, but at least his shoes are clean. . .

Mom: "Including your head?"

Mikie: "Well, not my face."

So, clearly with age does not come maturity. Or does it? At least he recognized that he shouldn't cover his face with sand.

Love, The Trahans