Male-funk-etching: an update on my life

My lil leprechauns on St. Paddy's Day

Male-funk-etching: the new DIY sensation! No, not really. Although it's a pretty apt malapropism for what being a mom to sons is like.

Notice the forehead bruise. Also, for more photos of Oliver in boxes, follow me on Instagram.

So a few weeks ago I got fired from my blog ads company for not posting enough. I was like, Up Yours! But I was also like, Yeah I Know. I'm sad that I haven't been regularly recording all the things that have been happening since becoming a mom to two; on the other hand, I've been busy being a mom to two and really enjoying it. (Note: I'm regularly active on Instagram as fiercebeagle)

Doing voices. Mom of the Year!

I started this blog when Ethan was just a few months old, and now he's six. Oliver is 16 months, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Children are the worst! (for getting older fast, and also getting pee speckles on everything) 

When I first started writing this blog, Ethan couldn't talk. Now not only does he talk with an uncanny and sometimes disconcerting vocabulary, he even formulates and executes his own pranks, the latest of which I like to call "Look at My Butt." In which he asks me to look at his butt, and I naturally do because I'm a concerned mom who's all "What's wrong with your butt?!?!" Then he literally farts directly in my face.

Both napping? This is the definition of The Best.

It feels like two weeks ago I posted my tips about [redacted: rhymes with tips; punny], a primer on breast feeding. And now Oliver...is still breast feeding, because he's a comfort nurser and a late teether. But he's also doing things like running around, climbing on everything, throwing overhand (baseballs, my phone), generally inducing near-heart failure in me daily. Oh! He also throws tantrums: rapid stomping, limp-arm flailing, squawking, screeching. He has Opinions, which is a real shame if you ask me.

Because why not.

Ethan's education is getting more complex. As a guilt gift for some recent invasive dental work he had to have done (First Child Mistake: letting your kid go to sleep with a bottle), I bought him a book I knew he'd love: an oversize tome on human anatomy. And I was right, he was thrilled with it. He's interested in the inner workings of things, and he collects spare computer parts to build "a supercomputer." Okay, then!

At the coolest dentist office ever.

While Oliver is learning about not pooping in the hall (true story; naked-baby time gone awry), Ethan is getting subtler instruction on things like obedience, the value of things, etc.

They're plotting, I can tell.

Example:

Yesterday, a rainy rainy day, I was opening the blinds and noticed Ethan's rubber boots splayed in the street just beyond our driveway. A brief line of inquiry led to the discovery that instead of bringing in his boots like he was asked, he placed them on the bumper of Noah's truck and kept playing. He also placed his semi-new light-up Spider-Man shoes back there.

Long story short, Noah found both shoes, several miles apart, a few miles from home. One appeared to have been run over. Although still more than wearable, one of Spider-Man's eyes was cracked and lights up nonstop now.

"It's male-funk-etching," Ethan noted.

That time he literally almost passed out when a loose tooth started bleeding.

When as a family we reviewed what Ethan learned from this fiasco—he's midway through a no-TV-for-three-days consequence, and he knew he'd have to contribute some of his own chore money to pay for new shoes, which is now unnecessary—our fine parenting skills were vindicated.

"Next time if I disobey," he stated, "I'll put them in the trunk."