Monday, March 30, 2009

In 15 Years, I Will Marry That Boy

I never thought I'd be a cougar. Especially since I'm married and all. But last compliment I got from Sweetie Pie probably involved me not stinking up the bathroom.

Which he better change, and fast. Because Little Man's best friend? Who's all of three and a half? He's one smooth operator.

On Friday, with Tiny Man on my hip, I walked into Little Man's classroom, where he was busy working on puzzles with his best friend. Little Man's BFF glanced up at me and asked "Is that your little sister?"

Now some people might have gotten offended that someone thought their baby was of the opposite sex.

But me? Well, me, I was just freaking excited that the best friend assumed I was way too young to be a five-month old's mother.

Even though he always greets me with a "Hi, Little Man's Mommy!" And Little Man is three years older.

But I'm a cougar. And I don't need logic to get in the way of true love.



Saturday, March 28, 2009

Testing the Theory That No One Likes a Bragger

So I've pretty much got this couponing thing down.

All of this?

I bought it for $27, including tax. Now, I know that's not as great as that woman on the Today Show who got $100 worth of groceries for 25 cents. And the Target lady wouldn't give me my 9 bars of kids' soap, which I was supposed to get for free, because my coupons were for a dollar, and they were on sale for 97 cents, and supposedly they can't adjust the value of the coupon anymore. Because or else? There would totally be nine bars of soap in front of this pile.

For the record? The diapers alone are worth just over $30 before tax. That means that it's like I got everything else in the picture for free.

Total savings, in case you're not that impressed yet? $54. That's right, baby. I got $81 worth of stuff for $27.

Also? To make your life easier, here's a widget where you can get your own $2 off coupon for the Snuggles Creme fabric softener. I've done everything for you but the shopping!



Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Five Months: My Letter to Tiny Man

I've been putting off this letter. This is the latest I've ever been for one of these letters and if you're thinking that it has to do with you being my second child, you're totally right. This has everything to do with the fact you're not my first. But it's probably not for the reasons you think. I haven't made this letter a priority, for the same reason that I keep slipping up and telling people that you're four-months old, when that hasn't been accurate for a few days now. The truth is that five-months old can't be right. You're my baby. And my baby can't already be four weeks away from being halfway to his first birthday. Because this would then mean that the time is getting away from me. That I'm about 29 weeks away from no longer having a baby.

And that truth? Is one I'm not quite ready to accept. Already, you're too big to fit on one of my arms when I'm rocking you. Your legs stick out past my torso, proof that all that eating you've been doing is totally starting to seriously affect your weight. I mean, I'm not going to call you fat, or anything, but seriously? Three rolls per thigh? Isn't that a little excessive?

I'm just saying, maybe if you stopped drinking milk like every bottle could be your last, maybe, just maybe you could remain a baby longer. You'd get to wear onesies longer, and I'd get to keep my baby longer. And everyone wins, right?

You now speak dolphin fluently, which should come in handy, should we ever be stranded at sea. Your high-pitch squeals have you clearly convinced that you are actually communicating with us. And you are. Because anyone with your enthusiasm and zest for life can always get his point across even if it's with sentences that sound like "baawaagaaawaa, EEEEE!"

We started you on solids this past month, and you've yet to meet a food you don't like. OK, that's a lie. It's something every mom says, but in your case it's not true. You've met the enemy and her name is oatmeal. I don't know what it is about oatmeal, but every time I try to feed it to you on its own, your entire face contorts itself while your entire body shudders.

I guess this is where your ressemblance to me shows itself, like me, your reactions border on over the top for everything. Which I guess I'll have to take because, really child? Could you look any more like your dad?

I'm serious, more and more, you look like this shrunk down version of him. Literally, when you're sitting on his lap, I think that if I suddenly developed depth perception issues, I totally wouldn't be able to tell the two of you apart.

You just figured out how to roll over from your back to your tummy. I'd left you on the floor the other day with your brother, and I walked back in and you were on your tummy making those pissed off grunts of yours that mean "shit, I'm stuck here, a little help please?" I asked your brother why he'd put you on your stomach, while trying to figure out how he was able to accomplish such a feat when you're more than half his body weight, but Little Man stated that you'd done it all by yourself. And when he said that, you lifted your head up, looked at me and beamed, while you were clearly telling me telepathically 'hell yeah I rolled over to my tummy, and as soon as I remember how to roll from front to back again, I'll totally put them together and roll over to places I shouldn't and your life will never be the same again.'

At this rate, I expect that you'll be swinging from the fan to see if it can propel you all the way to the refrigerator by next month.

You've also begun scooting around your crib, which means that on the video monitor, I rarely get to see your sleeping face. Now, I usually get to watch a sleeping arm, or foot, or a diaper. Which for the record, it's really hard to tell if a diaper is actually sleeping, so cut it out, will ya?

We also need to talk about your TV obsession. If there is a television set within two miles of where you are, you will not only notice it, but you will stare at it with this look of awe on your face.

Another thing you stare at in awe? Me. Which I have to admit, you're awful good for my ego, kid. I love working from home and having you watch me while I'm on conference calls, because I feel like the smartest person in the world with you staring at me, your eyes wide as saucers, as you drink in every word I say, every single one of my movements. And when our eyes lock, your face breaks out in the biggest smiles, smiles that you still refuse to let me catch on camera.

That's ok, no worries. Those big goofy smiles of yours can just be our little secret.

I love you, my Tiny Man,


The Post That Confirms What a Terrible Mother I Am

There are many things I do right.

I can't think of them right now, because I've had two beers, and considering that I've spent the last 15 months either pregnant or nursing, that's enough alcohol to make me buzzed, giggly and make my memory as malleable as room-temperature butter (mmmmm.... butter...).

My parents were in town last week, which I don't have any good stories for that, because it all went well, which means that maybe something shocking happened when I had Tiny Man, maybe, just maybe, I became mature enough to let my issues go. I just farted right now, to ensure that I don't lose what makes me who I am.

Anyway, my point is that my mother noticed that Little Man was scratching his head. And mentioned it to me. But it's Little Man, and he develops these weird tics all the time, because he's fairly high strung in his way. Like that one time he developed a two-pack a day habit. So I told my mom that it was probably just a nervous tic, like the way he's constantly scratching his stuffed frog's neck, to the point he's now managed to make a hole in the frog's throat, so that it looks like it had one of those heavy smoker tracheotomies (can you tell I'm totally craving a cigarette right now? No, seriously, I will kiss the first person with tongue who shows up to my hotel room with a cigarette and a light).

A week later, my mom mentioned to Sweetie Pie that Little Man really was scratching his head a lot, and Sweetie Pie, being my complete opposite, called Little Man over and looked at his head.

And guess what? My kid? Who I give a bath to every night, and whose hair I wash practically every day, because he's such a sweater? His hair, his thick, beautiful mass of hair, was infested with lice.

I'm talking live bugs. And eggs, dear God, the freaking eggs.

And you can tell me until you're blue in the face that lice doesn't just happen to dirty kids.

I don't care! Lice shouldn't happen to my kid! Especially when he's three!

And since it was late at night, and that we couldn't go buy anything for it (also, we thought he had fleas, since none of us, including my mom the teacher, had ever seen lice), we washed his hair with the dog's flea shampoo.

I might be the worst mother who ever ever lived.

Some day, Little Man will tell his therapist how his mother let him walk around with lice in his hair for a week and didn't notice. And his therapist will totally give him a free pass for robbing 10 banks.



Thursday, March 19, 2009

A Bright Future as a Dallas Meteorologist

When I first moved to Dallas, one thing that amazed me was the self-importance of the weather people. In Canada, the weather person is on for maybe two minutes and says "hey, it's going to be cold in Toronto today, tomorrow and for the next six months. Also, it's probably going to snow." The end.

But in Dallas? The weather guys and gals get two segments per half hour newscasts, and not only that, but they go into excruciating details, telling you what the current temperature is in every suburb so that it sounds like this "In Dallas, it's currently 78, in Addison 79, in Plano it's a balmy 80, but ooh, look! In Allen it's a cool 77."

Really? Is this necessary? Is the fact that it's one degree cooler where I live going to impact my whole day, like damn it, I was going to wear a sun dress, but I'm not going to actually BE in Plano where it's 80, so I better wear a parka instead.

And Little Man must have decided that he must report things obsessively too, just in case the national weather people's association is keeping tabs on him. Like this morning, when he went to use the bathroom and called me in because he'd pooped and needed my wiping services (not available to anyone I haven't birthed, I should add). I walked over and made the mistake of asking if he'd pooped.

"Yes. I pooped two times. One is big, one is small. Also, I peed. Not a lot, but enough and now the water's yellow. Also, I tooted. Twice. That's two times. You can't see my toots though, but they're in there."

He then proceeded to remind me to take my parka if I was going to head to Allen.



Tuesday, March 17, 2009

The Long Overdue Catwoman Changes Your Life Post

So I didn't share my secrets in my post about how I've been saving money.

And the comments and the crazy number of emails I received were pretty pissy about how I teased you all with all my free stuff and didn't share.

Which hello? How long have you guys been reading me? I'm a bitch residing in a post-baby body. You're just figuring this out now?

It's not that I'm a bitch though, it's mostly, I didn't want to write a post that seemed like a commercial for a paying site.

But since you guys are mad at me, fine. I'll tell you my secret.

So first? If you guys aren't getting the Sunday paper? The one with all the coupons? Start getting it.

If you are getting it? Start buying a second one. Trust me, the small investment of two bucks will save you loads of money each week.

Second? Start stealing folders or large envelopes from work. Or just go buy a pack at a store. Also worth the investment.

Now, every week, you'll grab a large envelope (I recommend an envelope instead of a folder, stuff less likely to fall out and stuff) and write that Sunday's date on the front. Now stick the flyers of coupons in the envelope. Do not cut them out. (once again, trust me and the system, will ya? I'm a professional, people).

Next, go to The Grocery Game. Spend the dollar to get the 4-week trial. Seriously, trust me, it's worth the dollar. And it's worth the $1-$2 a week you'll spend for a membership after that. (Side note: feel free to use me as a reference when you sign up, email address is at

Basically, the grocery game is this awesome system that tells you where to buy stuff and when to use your coupons. If it's not on the list, you don't buy it, simple as that.

This past week? Because of the system? I got six bags of free cat treats (sure, my cat will be 19 years old in a month, and this is probably a lifetime supply for her, but hey! FREE!), three bottles of Frank's red hot sauce, deodorant for 50 cents, Ken's salad dressing for 50 cents a bottle (or maybe it was a dollar, hard to remember, it was cheap) and mucho, mucho other things. In fact, I got more than $232 of groceries for just under $100. I'm not making this up. You should see our pantry. Food is falling out of it. Same thing with our freezer.

In fact, I have so much free or dirt cheap (think 20 cents) bottles of shampoo and soaps, that I've started a large grocery bag where I'm putting the excess now. Once the bag is full, I'll be bringing it to the nearest battered woman's shelter for their clients to use. So not only am I getting free stuff for my family? But now, I'm also giving back, something that has me excited.

The Grocery game is your best bet to get started. I'm now past my trial period and am happily paying them $20 for three stores worth of lists. Because holy hell, have they continued to save me a small fortune. No more store brands for my family, becauase literally? The name brands are so much cheaper for me now.

Then there are some other great sites that you should get to know, that will teach you how to get free stuff and cheap stuff at other places.

Here are some of my favorites:

I Heart CVS: I haven't really gotten into the CVS shopping, because it seems the nearest one to me is out of everything even when I show up at opening time on the day the circular deals start (WTF by the way, CVS...), but people swear by it.

I Heart Walgreen's: I've gotten three free rolls of aluminum foil and a year's worth of free shampoo thanks to this site.

For those of you with Rite Aids in your areas? The sites above have a I Heart Rite Aid site linked on their home pages.

The Centsible Sawyer: A great site that'll tell you how to get cheap or free stuff at a number of stores. She does weekly cheap Target, Walmart and many other stores posts. Another great one to start with.

Surviving the Stores:Another one that's now in my blog reader. Today's post has links from other couponing bloggers for stores around the country, so you can probably find your local couponing experts on the post!

The Freebie Blogger:I think this is the site Texas Mama told me about? So thanks Texas Mama! (And if it's not, well, just take the credit for it anyway!) This site is awesome for free promotions! I've downloaded free songs thanks to this site (yesterday? I got Taylor Swift's "Love Story" for free, which made the 13-year old in me very happy. Two weeks ago? If I'd known about it? I could have downloaded Kelly Clarkson's "My Life Would Suck Without You" for free instead of paying iTunes for it.) Also? I'm now cancelling my Netflix membership, which will save us $10 a month, since there's a redbox free rental code every week on Freebie Blogger, and I'll just rent a fre movie, watch it on Monday night with Sweetie Pie and we'll just Tivo our Monday shows and watch them on Saturday night, our usual movie night.

So there you go. My secrets. I've shared them with you. A few tips for you newbies:

- There are three kinds of coupon flyers: Redplum (also called Vasalias or something like that in other regions), Smart Source and Procter&Gamble. All coupon sites will tell you what coupon to use by listing the coupon flyer by one letter (example: S or SS for Smart Source) and the date, so R 3/15 would tell you to look for the coupon in your Redplum flyer from March 15th. This is why you want to keep your coupon inserts whole and have them in an envelope or folder with the date on them. Some people believe in cutting out all the coupons, sorting them in baseball card holders or coupon organizers, but you know what? I find that I never find any coupons that way, because I can't remember if I've got toilet paper coupons in paper or in toiletries and how the hell do you know what date it's from then? Trust me, do it my way.

- You'll need to figure out your individual store's coupon policy. One of my grocery stores? Only doubles or triples your first coupon for an item. I use the self-check out, so that way I can split my shampoo into two or three transactions if I have multiple coupons for it that I'm using that day. Another one does it for three, so keep an eye on your bill on check out the first time, so that you'll know for the future.

- In Texas, coupons only get doubled to 50 cents. I'm highly jealous of those people in the North East would get coupons doubled up to 99 cents. Do you know how much free stuff I could get then?

- Figure out what produce and meat is on sale where and fill your fridge and freezer the first couple of weeks with the basics like ground beef and chicken. Then plan your menu for the week based on what's on sale. It'll save you mucho, mucho money and you won't have meat in the freezer for two years. You want to use what you buy.

Questions? Post them in the comments, I'm happy to teach you everything I know, young grasshoppers. Unless you start clearing the aisles of my grocery stores because you live near me, and then I'll kick your asses, because I was here first!



Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Little Lady Comes to the Big Easy

So I mentioned in another post that I'm in New Orleans, something I was nervous about what with this being the murder capital and all.

I like to think I'm street smart, but that theory held its own until I lasted exactly three days when at 18 and in Barcelona for the summer, I was mugged at 3 a.m. In a dark alley. And then proceeded to fight with my attackers in an attempt to get this drunk American boy's fanny pack back. Who I barely knew and probably wasn't that cute, since I was sporting some thick beer goggles.

Somehow I managed to not get myself raped or killeda miraculous feat. But, if anything, that experience taught me that being raised in the tough streets of Suburban Ottawa, Montreal And Toronto might not have made me as street smart as you would think.

So whenever I travel to cities that have high crime rates, I don't trust myself.

And Monday once again proved to me that I shouldn't be allowed out of the house without adult supervision.

Upon landing in New Orleans, I made my way to the taxi stand. I always demand a cab that takes credit cards, so that I can use my corporate card instead of forking out the cash and waiting to get reimbursed.

The guy manning the taxi line pointed me to a gray cab with a man standing by the trunk. I walked over, smiled, said hi, and he opened the trunk for me a little bigger. I put my suitcase which contained my BREAST PUMP! And toiletries in it, and upon seeing him grab the handle of my carry on, which amongst other things (like all of my clothes) held my work laptop. I headed to the back passenger door and climbed into the cab.

And there, in the driver's seat was another man, who was clearly the real cab driver. As we drove away, I sat there, stunned that I had just given my laptop to a strange man, simply because he'd been standing near a trunk.

All's well that ends well, when we got to the hotel, both of my bags were there.

I guess strange trunk man decided I was too stupid for him to steal from



Tuesday, March 10, 2009


I was planning on writing a post today about my stupidity yesterday, but that is being thrown out by my trauma of this morning. Now I must preamble this story with a warning that many of you will scoff at me, but just think back to the first time this happened to you, and maybe then you can show me the proper compassion I deserve.

So I was standing in the bathroom of my hotel this morning, doing my hair, which involves separating it into sections to be straightened one at a time, when I suddenly spotted something odd.

After some closer inspecting, it looked like a blond hair. Which doesn't make any sense, since I'm a brunette whose hair doesn't lighten. So I ripped it out. And that's when the world started spinning.

Not because I gave myself a gaping wound with the ripping of the hair, thank you for your concern, but there was no shedding of any blood.

There was, however some shedding of tears, when I realized that it was in fact my first white hair. Which led me to wonder if there were any others. And that's when I found my second white hair.
And since I can't see the back of my head, there could be a third one back there, hidden out of sight...

This morning, I woke up 33 years young. Two hours later, I was 33 years old.

I just need a little time to grieve the end of my life as I knew it, since I haven't colored my hair since my early 20s.



Monday, March 09, 2009

And It's Me Again

So I'm writing this entire post from my iPhone. Which, by the way, if Sweetie Pie knew about my blog, he'd totally mock that last sentence, because he finds it hilarious that I always refer to it as my iPhone, rather than simply my phone. Which just proves how he's amused by just about anything and why we get along so well.

I'm currently on my way to New Orleans, which is sad for two reasons. First because I'm a couple of weeks late for Mardi Gras, and do you know how many beads I'd get with my giant breastfeeding boobies? I'd probably be the first person in the history of Mardi Gras to die under the crushing weight of beads. And two, because this is the first time I'm leaving Tiny Man for longer than a work day. The Man-Do-I-Ever-Miss-Them feeling is amplified that right now there's this tightening in my chest that feels a little like I'm weighed down by 10,000 pounds of beads. For two days, I won't get to hear his little piglet squeals of joy when he spots me, the dog, a speck of dust and just about everything else, because he's an indiscriminate squealer.

Little Man has been briefed as well, if not better than any of my executives, due to how hard he took my last business trip in September. I made him a makeshift calendar with three boxes and every day, he colors one in so that he'll know when I'm coming back.

Also? I have a beef to pick with talented menu writers. When you describe a chicken ciabatta sandwich like it's the second coming, ensuring that my stomach removes itself from my body, slithers to the kitchen leaving a trail of gastric acid in it's path to becoming one with that sandwich, I can't help but be disappointed when I bite into a rock-hard piece of bread with A dried out piece of chicken. I'm just sayin let's tone it down ok boys and girls?

And now my flight's been delayed. Something about a problem with the windshield. Like we need one of those. It's freaking 70 outside let's just roll down all the windows and enjoy the nice breeze. Where's the pilot from The Miracle on the Hudson? He'd totally fly our plane in as is condition.



Saturday, March 07, 2009

New Obsession

So I need to let you guys in on something. Hope you're sitting down for this, because I'm sure it'll be a complete shock. So I know I'm not an economist, but I have to tell you that the economy? It ain't so good.

I'm sorry to have to be the one to break it to you guys.

And I'll be honest, I've never been the best money person. I am the stay-at-home mom who had to go back to work because whenever Little Man and I got bored at home, I'd take him shopping. And apparently, them credit cards? They don't pay themselves.

I know, I'm just full of new facts today.

The bad economy finally hit home for us, in the way of a paycut for me. And as I've told many a coworker, it's not like my company told me last year "hey, you know what would be awesome? Is if you went and had a second baby so that you'd have two daycare bills." Having Tiny Man was my decision, and I'd rather go underwearless and not eat than imagine a life without him.

But still.

Pay cuts suck.

And we were already living pretty thriftily, so there ain't much fat to cut. There is the cleaning lady, of course. But she is my sanity, and giving her up would be like slicing off my ears.

So I've found another way to trim back the old budget. And I must admit, it's turned into a bit of an obsession, as most things tend to with me.

Hello, my name is Catwoman and I'm an extreme couponer. I've got 10 sites now that I track like a hawk that tell me who's got a sale on what and what coupon I need to use when so that I can get craploads of stuff for as little money as possible.

Sweetie Pie laughs at me, because before one of these trips to the store, I'm totally giddy and I tell him "I'm going to go rob Target/Walgreen's/the grocery store."

I must pause here to welcome any new readers who found me from googling "how to rob Target."

So here's my spree from yesterday. This was one of my better trips and I must say that I'm still glowing from the thrill of it.

You know how much I paid for all of that (just for the record, it's two large packs of Huggies wipes, three Renuzit air & fabric deodorizers, 1 carton of Silk soy milk, 3 packs of Mott's apple sauce, 6 cans of condensed chicken noodle soup and a box of Milkbones).

I got all of it for $7.70. That's including tax.

I know, right? There are people who shoplift and spend more money than I do.

So I know I'm a terrible blogger. And I'm a terrible blog reader. But this new hobby of mine? It's really a lot of fun!

Today? I dragged Tiny Man to Walgreen's for dirt cheap diapers, three bottles of free conditioner and two free Glade air sray thingies.

So to summarize? Me hate pay cuts. Me love free stuff.

The end.



Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Forty-Two Months: My Letter to Little Man

So a funny thing happened this past month. You turned into a three-year old. Which is both horrifying and a relief, in some ways. Amongst the three-year old traits you have taken on, the most visible one is your idea of a joke, which typically involve calling anyone around something that includes the words "poo-poo" and "head."

Why this is hilarious, I'm not sure, because I'll be honest with you kid, it's been a very, very long time since I've been three years old. But every day, when I pick you up from school and ask you what you did, you practically can't speak, because you're so busy recounting how you called your best friend a poo-poo head. Oh, the hilarity.

A few months ago, I mentioned that I tried to teach you how to tell knock knock jokes, a feat that I've discovered is extremely difficult to do, because how do you explain to someone that after you say "knock knock", they're supposed to say "who's there?" But silly me gave it another shot and this time went a lot better, I must admit. After a few rounds of me saying "knock knock" and you repeating "knock knock," you finally understood that you were supposed to say "who's there?" The small victories of motherhood. Next, I have to make you understand that the vodka should always be poured first into the martini shaker.

So you know the knock knock, who's there? Boo. Boo who? joke. And you tell it to me many times, and I have to act like I've never heard it before. Which would be a lot easier to do if you didn't go into a fit of giggles every time I say boo who?, which means that you never use the punchline. And then I'm forced to tell you that you haven't said the punchline, and each time without fail you tell me "then you say it." I'm thinking your future as a stand-up comic is pretty cloudy looking right now.

My favorite moment in the past month involved the following conversation:

Me: "Little Man, you're so good looking, you must have a lot of girlfriends!
- No I don't!
- You don't have lots of girlfriends? How many girlfriends do you have then?
- Just one.
- Just one? I'm shocked! Do you love your girlfriend?
(nodding) - I do! I love her very, very much.
- That's so sweet! And what is your girlfriend's name?
- Mama! My girlfriend is you!"

Cue me throwing pounds of M&Ms at you and promising you a Porshe for your 16th birthday. Keep it up, kid, because flattery will get you everywhere.

You've also discovered tattling this month. This is not exactly your best side and we've tried beating it out of you. And when I say beating, clearly I mean literally using boards with rusty nails on them, not the figurative manner. I only clarify this so that you have something to blame us for when your therapist doesn't understand where all of your issues stem from. You regale us with stories about how so and so at school did this and so you told on them and this girl said "sunny" and that's a bad word (really?!?) so you told on her. You tell me about things Daddy does and you tell Daddy when I give you candy before dinner.

Then, of course, there's the comment you made to Daddy one day when you were by yourselves in his truck. As he sped up to pass a car, you said "Daddy, are you going to drive fast like Mama now?"

Now that you're halfway to your fourth birthday, I've discovered you no longer forget things. Like the other day, when you decided you were finished with your dinner and didn't eat your piece of yummy garlic bread (with cheese!!!). You excused yourself from the table, and left to play. Your father and I promptly split your bread and chatted while we finished dinner. Unfortunately, a few minutes later, you showed up in the dining room, climbed back in your spot and promptly noticed that your break was gone. The look of shock on your face was pretty hilarious, I have to admit, and you looked at your father and then at me and said "you ate my bread?" like you couldn't believe we could do anything so cruel. We explained to you that you'd told us you were done and excused yourself from the table, but you continued to look incredulous. But even worse, every day since then, at some random time during the day, you'll say to me "remember how you and Daddy ate my bread the other day?"

So let's see then.... Steel trap memory + a love of tattle taling + skinniness = teachers who've probably called Child Protective Services to report abusive parents who eat their skinny kid's food.

This morning I swung by Chick-Fil-A for breakfast for the both of us. You only ate half of your hash browns and told me you wanted to keep them for tomorrow. As you handed them to me, you eyed me suspiciously and said "you're not going to eat them, are you?" I told you they were going to get soggy and that hash browns don't keep. Your eyes narrowed to slits and you stated more firmly "I'm going to eat the rest tomorrow. You're not going to eat them, are you?"

Amazing how convincing someone who's roughly 37 inches tall can be.

I love you my Little Man,