and there you have it…


August 2009

kitty. cheerios. poop. i’m sensing a reoccurring theme, and it’s not kitties.

This will eventually end up in a conversation with Grant, but I feel it needs a bit of context. You’ll also want to read the post, Mr. Independent, to fully appreciate the depth of Grant’s reasoning abilities.

Last night Grant decided he didn’t want to eat dinner. ‘I want notheens’ he tells me. In the past this would have been quite normal, but since the recent diet change to shrink his adenoids he has thrown very few fits over meals and eats like a horse.

So I was a little suspicious, but choose to ignore it. I told him if he wasn’t hungry he just needed to sit in his chair with the rest of us until dinner was over. Since Nana and Papa were over for dinner, I figured he just didn’t want to waste time eating when he thought he could be playing with them. Take away the playing option and he’ll eat if he’s hungry, right? Guess he wasn’t hungry, didn’t eat a thing. In his defense he did wait semi-patiently for us to finish though.

An hour and a half later, Jena is in bed and Grant has decided to be a kitty. He’s going around the living room meowing and licking everything and everyone, totally grossing me out. Kitty is attemptig to crawl around in his night shirt (my old band shirts I re-purposed so I could keep them, oh yeah). Which was funny enough by itself, since this is a skill primarily girl children master as we force them to learn to crawl in dresses. Since he’s a boy, mastery was not his level of skill in this art.  There was a lot of rapid movement followed by abrupt stopping.

Back to the point. He manages to make his way into the kitchen and when kitty returns, it’s carrying a box of Cheerios. 

Grant: mommy kitty wants some Cheerios.

Me: kitty can have some chicken from dinner.

Grant: kitties like Cheerios mommy *accentuated by licking the box*

Me: kitties love chicken too, does kitty want some chicken?

Grant: *sits thinking for a minute* kitty go poo poo for Cheerios mommy! *and runs to the bathroom*

My three year old ‘kitty’ outsmarted me.

babies, babies everywhere

Upon returning from the store this morning the following dialogue occurred.

*Grant stumbling into the house from the car*

Grant: Grants is tired

Nana: Why are you tired Grant?

*Grant looking down and patting his tummy*

Grant: dis baby in my belly gettin big, it making me tired.

I don’t know where this kid comes up with these things…

my you look like you’re about to have that baby!

For any of you that follow me on twitter, you’ve already heard my numerous complaints about things that come out of people’s mouth when my apparently ENORMOUS belly enters a room. For your reading pleasure, here’s a few more.

So last night Neil and I went on a date. We were in Gainesville and my in-laws graciously agreed to steal their grandchildren for the night. Given the fact that I will soon be tied by the boob to a newborn, we took fully advantage of our night out. As we were getting ready to leave the restaurant, our first stop, I mean I am pregnant, I had to go to the bathroom. It’s a given, I’ve got a 7.5 lbs baby boy doing a headstand on my bladder AT ALL TIMES. I waddle my way to the bathroom, go, wash my hands and as I’m about to leave the following exchange occurs.

Sweet older lady, ‘My you look like you’re about to have that baby!’

Knowing this to be false, I explain that, no, I still have a month to go.

‘A MONTH?!?!’ She questions incredulously, obviously finding this hard to believe.

‘Is it your first?’ she asks next.

‘No it’s actually my third,’ I reply.

‘Third!’ she exclaims, incredulously again.

‘My honey, you don’t look old enough to have one, let alone three.’ at which point I forgave her.

Until I’m walking out the door and her this, ‘Now don’t go having that baby tonight now.’


Next stop, bookstore. So while I’m in the bookstore a lady starts browsing the section next to me and her phone rings. She picks it up and turns around to talk (why do people do that turning around to talk thing anyway?) As she turns I happen to be in her line of sight, her eyes grow large as she finishes her conversation and quickly gets off the phone. As soon as she hangs up…here we go again.

Large eyed woman, ‘You must be about to have that baby next week!’

‘No,’ I reply and again explain the situation.

‘First baby?’ she asks.

‘No, it’s my third,’ I respond.

‘Oh,’ she says, as if that explains everything.

‘So you just have BIG babies. That was my 10.5 pounder I just got off the phone with.’

I’ve heard all that before, but the 10.5 pounder part. Even reading that now, I wonder, why? What was the comment about her 10.5 pound child supposed to do? Reassure me that, yes babies CAN get that big? How comforting. They’re already telling me he feels about 7.5 lbs, and as you are now aware I have a month or more to go. At a half a pound a week of average weight gain (according to baby zone) I could meet or beat this woman’s 10.5 lbs baby. I feel comforted already. I always wanted to give birth to a two month old.

Here’s some pics of me and my enourmous belly from last night. Let the comments fly.



to all the haters

Dear Haters:

I know you’re out there, all you social media haters. I hear you in the halls, I hear you at family gatherings, I hear you in my dreams. “Social Media isn’t real relationships” you say, “It’s just a bunch of surface friendships, nobody really cares on there.”

Now I understand the irony of this letter and it’s intended audience. For you, the social media hater, will more than likely never see this letter. I will publicize this post on Facebook and Twitter, besides it being on a public blog on the Internet. But alas, those are not places you frequent.

So I must ask, how does one communiate with you? Should I spend the next weeks of my life looking up home phone numbers, since you certaintly still have one of those, and placing cold calls to answering machines to bring you my message? Perhaps I should print it and distribute door to door like the Jehovah’s Witness we all love so much. That should only take a few months of my life.

Sadly neither of those are feasible options in my life currently. So I am forced to used the most effective means of communication, even though it is one that you choose not to participate in. It is sad really, but I do hope someday you will be able to read the following, though I imagine by the time you do, it will no longer pertain to you.

Sunday night I posted the following status on my Facebook page

“wanting a good book, and not really feeling the ones I have available”

Now mind you, I posted this to my following of surface friends who really care nothing about me and view me only as a number.

Yesterday morning I come to my desk and the little red bubble tells me that someone has commented on my status. It’s my blogger buddy agreatweirdness, she writes:

“There are three books at Tim’s desk for you – it’s that Voice of the Lion series I told you about. =)”

Last night I sat happily reading a great new book thanks to my surface friend who doesn’t care about me. Being unloved and disconnected from real people never felt so good.



Mr. Independent

So we’ve reached a new phase in the Byce household, and we are all very excited about it. Couple that with the NIGHT and DAY behavioral changes from the diet we’ve put him on to shrink his adenoids back down and we are all a bunch of happy campers.

Grant has gone from ‘you do it mommy’ for EVERYTHING, to ‘I do it myselves!’ for most things. Please interpret this correctly, it is a good thing, a very GOOD thing. You won’t be getting any of that ‘if only they could stay little’ talk from me. Now don’t get me wrong, I loved my kids to death when they were babies, and really did and do enjoy the time. But God in his infinite wisdom did not make kids stay that way forever. For that I will be eternally grateful. I’m ready for some independence.

We, ok I, was seriously starting to wonder if it was EVER going to happen. I mean I knew it would…most of the time…kind of. But you start to have these thoughts like ‘I’m going to have to dress him in high school.’

Yesterday I was able to snap a couple of pictures to illustrate this new found independence. The following show Grant in his all matching fishy outfit he’s had for over a year now. I’ve, in the past, been able to get him to wear the shirt and sometimes the hat, but NEVER the vest and certainly not more than one at the same time. You just can’t have on THAT many fishies at once, duh mom.

But he found the vest himself this morning and decided he wanted to wear it. The when the matching things were discovered he was all ‘of course I’d want to wear a set, duh mom.’ He did need a bit of help getting the vest on correctly. He was convinced it was pants, I mean it obviously wasn’t a shirt, what else could it be right? But the rest he put on ‘all hisselfs’ including the inside-out and backward underwear. He was very proud of himself, and so was I.

so what's with this zipper thing
so what's with this zipper thing
see my fishie mom
see my fishie mom

We’ve also made serious break throughs in the potty training arena, FINALLY! The difference this has made is huge, Monumental, GINORMOUS! And no that is not an exaggeration. You never realize how much you hate changing a bazillion (possible slight exaggeration) poppy diapers a day, until you don’t have to!

Grant has now decided he can go on the ‘big potty’ and all of a sudden we’re done. He does everything on it and it doesn’t matter where you go, ’cause everyone has one. We have found we need to warn people though, as they tend to think he’s fallen in when they stumble upon him. He doesn’t want your help, and he only looks like he’s fallen in. He’s actually suspending himself inches above the water with his super bicep muscles, what can I say, I birthed a super kid.

We’ve gone through a whole pack of cookies this week he’s gone poop so much. Which by the way is his reward for going in the potty. Pee came easy, we had to break out the big guns for poop. For the last few weeks our mornings have started with Grant running to me in the kitchen and asking ‘We have more cookies momma?’ When I answer yes he calls, as he’s stripping and running to the bathroom ‘Ok, I go poo poo an get my cookie! I be right back!’ I guess a cookie’s a pretty big deal for a kid that doesn’t get sugar that much.

I think it’s cute the way he savors these cookies. I wish I could have got this pic two minutes sooner while he was actually eating it, by the time I grabbed the camera he had just finished. He told me he wanted to go outside and relax with his cookie yesterday. When I let him out he went to the swing an flipped the cushions to the ‘pretty side’ (one side is all sun bleached and the other is still fresh and new looking) sat back and ate his cookie.

Here he is enjoying the fruits of his labor. I had to sneak it through the window so he wouldn’t see me taking it, so it’s not all that sharp, but you get the idea.

it pays to be a big boy
it pays to be a big boy

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