J.D. The Martyr

Did Ricky Martin Give Them Back Before 2 Weeks Was Up?:36 Hours Left

I like to think of myself as pretty thick skinned.  In most (some) areas.  I dish it out in big heaping bucketfuls, so I have to be able to take it...

(Interruption)I just snapped my fingers at Cal.  He was taunting his brother whom we're trying to get into the shower. It has come to that.  Actually, I already regret it.  Deep cleansing breath. 

Now where was I...I was commenting on my thick skin...

(Interruption) Cal has just informed me that he left his math journal at school.  He is worried (and I'm not making this up) that someone will break a window in his classroom and steal his journal and go forth and publish his research.  I have assured him that it is extremely unlikely that will happen and have ushered him off to prepare for his...

(Interruption, interruption) Cal is (supposed to be)getting ready for his shower, and all of a sudden I hear the dryer has started up.  He is concerned that it's running, but can't explain why he did it.

...so tonight I was very excited to be feeding the boys my homemade mac & cheese.  Cal assured me that he liked mac &c cheese, and Nolan is reputed to eat anything.  So it seems...

(Interruption) Nolan, who is supposed to be in the shower by now, just walked into the living room with his pants and underwear down around his ankles, declaring that he is not yet prepared for his shower because he has to go potty...

...uh...oh yeah, mac & cheese...so I made the most kid friendly version of mac and cheese: no bread crumbs (Cal didn't approve), no funky cheeses, just the basic, yet totally real, magilla. I made it, and served it up.  Problem number 1: Nolan didn't find it saucy enough.  He asked me to pour water into it (!!!)  Worse, I did it.  It made the dish saucier which placated him for a bit, then he flat out declared that he didn't like it, and could I please scrape all of the butter off of his bread.  Cal ate a brief bit more, but honestly, I think I lost him earlier when he found out that it wasn't the Shells & Cheese in a box.  I know that they're kids and all, but I'm a little put off.  Fortunately, I'll live.

I decided that the boys had to eat, so I offered up hot dogs.  Nolan announced that he wanted cheese, and about five other things on his.  Then I told him that he could either have a hot dog or a turkey sandwich.  He said turkey sandwich which I was preparing within seconds.  Cal said hot dog.   I put a pan of water...

(interruption) Cal just finished his shower in about two minutes and thirty seconds.  He assured me that he is thoroughly clean and that he washed his hair.  I am now willing to fall back on my mother's policy of being satisfied if he has managed to completely wet his hair.

...on the stove and cranked it on for the hot dog.  Then the moment arrived.  I caved. I gave in to every legitimate parenting instinct and tossed the fantasy completely out the window.  I turned off the stove, and put the hot dog...in...the...microwave. Within 30 seconds Cal was complaining that his hot dog was too hot.  I told him to blow on it, set the timer for five minutes, and announced that the dinner timer was ticking!  (And I love, love, LOVE that Tom kept the boys paced with 30 second interval updates of just how much time they had left to eat.)

I can't vouch for how quickly any of you parents out there have gone from eating dinner to beddy-bye tuck in, but I'm throwing down the challenge with 10:45, including showers for both.

After all were in bed Tom looked at me and said, "It's been great, but really, I think it's time for their parents to come home."  Of course, he's still frustrated because Nolan peed on the toilet seat.

Tomorrow is our last day.  We're keeping them out of soccer practice to have one last full afternoon and evening together before they (and we) return to our real worlds.

Looks like 10:45 is a failed number as Tom just came out and asked me if we remembered to have the boys brush their teeth...D'oh!

Does War and Peace Come in the Pop-Up Format?: Day 11

One of the (other) nifty accomplishments of my 2009 was reading the book Trinity by Leon Uris.  A grand, sweeping (long) historical novel that follows the history of the Irish people from the great potato famine to the turn of the 20th century.  It was an awesome book, one of the best I've ever read.  At 800-something pages it also took awhile to get through.  This was exacerbated by the fact that I often only read 10-20 pages a day.  Shameful, I know, especially for a teacher.  But reading is something I tend to do at the end of the day, just before going to sleep.  So I get myself all tucked in, warm and cozy, and move my eyes back and forth over the words until I can't keep my eyes open anymore.

This, of course, has been another part of our daily lives that has been altered with our house guests.  It shouldn't be.  All my reading takes place after they are well in bed.  But since they arrived, I have noticed a strange decaying of the quality of my reading material. 

Before they arrived I was reading Nana by Emile Zola.  He was a French writer and this novel's setting of early 20th century Paris was appealing because of our recent trip. (Truth be told, I bought it to read before the trip, and brought it along to read on the trip...neither of those happened.)

But at the end of that long first day, I was just too shagged out to expend energy on a British translation of a 100+ year old French novel.  Instead I grabbed for It Must Have Been Something I Ate, by Jefferey Steingarten.  Short, thoughtful essays on food and eating.  Perfect for a post kids day. 

After a few more days I found Steingarten required too much of an emotional commitment for the end of a long kid-filled day.  So I traded him in for a cookbook I've been slowly working my way through.  Perusing recipes, contemplating great Italian cookery, now THAT was a great way to wind down.

By the end of last week I had slid even further into the literary abyss by stepping away from the cookbook to a cooking magazine.  I don't know why that was somehow easier and better.  Maybe just the fact of it being literally, as well as figuratively, lighter weight.

Then this week, cooking magazines just became too much a drain on my mental capacity.  I actually turned to catalog mailers, the adult equivalent of a picture book, to help ease me towards slumber.  That's right, I can no longer process the written word after 9:30 at night.

Next week I should be able to resume Monsieur Zola and his dancing showgirl.  Good thing, too.  Much longer of this and I might have to find some pop-up books.

Crime & Punishment: Day 9

As a school teacher, the disciplining of other people's children is part of the job.  But it's usually quick and deadly or quick and painless.  The operative term there being "quick."  Cal and Nolan have generally been very good, requiring only the occasional reminder to be nice to one another, or to pick up their clothes.

That all changed today. (Cue ominous music)

Picked Cal up at school and then went to claim Nolan from his Transitional-Kindergarten.  One of his teachers asked if she could talk to me. (Cue slightly more ominous music.)

Apparently she had asked Nolan to do something, and he had told her,"No."  She reprimanded him and reasserted what she wanted him to do.  He continued to refuse and then added the now standard, "You are not my friend" (which Tom did in fact get before me, so there), and "You can't come to my birthday party",(which I got last night.)

Since he wasn't getting his desired reaction, he implied...in fairly blunt terms...that his father was going to cause her some bodily harm.  She then pressed him for how he thought his father might do this (her one major mistake, in my opinion) and he expounded for her, detailing the hows and with-whats with a certain, disturbing  level of expertise.

Either way, it was a major no-no.  I assured her that I would communicate the issue to his parents, and that the problem would be dealt with swiftly and appropriately.  That was interesting, because I wasn't too sure what that might mean.  But as with Cal's teacher and the homework issue last week, I wasn't about to be judged by these people.

Fortunately the actual parents were near their New Zealand phone connection and we had a quick strategy session on how to play it out.  Here's what went down...

Nolan and I excused ourselves to the boys' bedroom and I told him we had to have a talk.  We talked about what he said to his teacher, and how that wasn't respectful, and wasn't acceptable.  He seemed to understand, but didn't seem overly concerned.  I told him that he was going to have to have a consequence, and he seemed OK with that as well.  I also told him that I could have denied him play time with Mark & Ed's dogs, that were coming over, and though that got a bit of reaction, he seemed relieved to know that that wasn't the final judgment.  Then the boom was lowered.  I told him that he would have to sit in his room, on his cot, while his brother got to finish that day's episode of Scooby Doo.  Really.  That was it.  13 minutes of television.  You would have thought it was life without the possibility of parole.  His hands went up over his eyes, the tears started to flow, and as I pushed PLAY on the TiVo the sobs got louder.  At one point I caught him preening his neck to possibly see a sliver of the program, and drew a nearby curtain that completely blocked his view.  Frustrated, I then noticed that he had completely shut the door so that he wouldn't have to hear what he could not see.  Oh no.  I don't think so.  There will be no lessening of the only punishment I can stomach to mete out.  I opened the door and told Nolan that it had to stay open, and that he had to stay on his cot.

Eventually the minutes passed, Scooby and the gang solved the mystery, and I went in, gave him a big hug and told him I loved him, and that he had to do what his teachers said.  He hugged back, hard, and agreed.

I had him dictate an apology note which I typed in dotted type, so he could trace over it.  He's halfway done as of this writing. I realized at some point that he wouldn't go back to school until Wednesday, and so Tom decided that when he dropped Cal off for school tomorrow he would take Nolan to the Pre-K classroom and have him make his apology then, so as to keep the immediacy factor alive.  Poppa Tom getting the hang of it!  Got to love that.

After the drama we had Mark and Ed over for a Puppy-Pizza Play Date.  It was great fun and their dogs even followed the boys into bed and helped tuck them in.  Very, very cute.  Nolan seemed...aware...of what went down all evening and was pretty easy going from then on.

Me?  I'm still a mess.  Poor little guy with evil revenge plans!

There Are No Seatbelts On the Floor of a Camaro: Day 8

Throughout this experience I find myself channeling they who were charged with my own care as a child: my mother, both my grandmothers, and assorted aunts and uncles.  Among them would be my aunt Gina (no uppercase "a" on the aunt because we were never raised to refer to our aunts and uncles as Aunt So-And-So or Uncle Whats-His-Name.)

Gina, like a number of my aunts and uncles, bears the odd distinction of being closer in age to me then to my mother, her sister.  She is an incredible burst of energy that sustains.  Almost everything I learned about playing practical jokes, I learned from her.  When my sixth birthday was looming she took me to the store to help her buy stuff for another little boy that she needed to buy gifts for.  Being completely clueless I offered my advice, and was genuinely surprised when, a day later, I unwrapped all of my recommendations. Since I was seven, our common salutation to one another has been "I think you stink!"  Eventually we even added sign language, and other members of the family picked up on it.  We must be quite a sight when large numbers of us gather in public.  My mother still hasn't forgiven her for teaching my brothers and I to squish banana through our front teeth.  She incessantly refers to herself as "my favorite aunt", which occasionally causes trouble when I refer to her as such in front of the others(I have a lot of aunts.)

One of the favorite traumatic memories of my childhood was trip I took with Gina in her Camaro.  I think I was nine.  We were driving along the freeway when a hot guy pulled up alongside us and started making eyes at my aunt.  She saw him, turned to me, and insisted that I hunch down on the floor of the front seat, shoving my head down further and further.  She was concerned that this guy would think I was her child.  There we were, screaming along the 10 freeway, Gina smiling and winking at "hot guy" (while carefully paying attention to the road, I'm sure) her left hand on the wheel, her right hand on the back of my neck as I actively tried to make myself known.

She had a unique way with my three brothers and I as well.  One of our absolute favorite things in the whole world was to go somewhere in her VW bus.  It was the "cargo" version with few windows, and no seats in the back.  We would all pile in the back and she would drive around, taking corners at dangerously high speeds, while my brothers and I rolled around and fell on top of each other in the back, laughing hilariously the entire time.  It was better than any Disneyland ride!

Today, the norms and laws (pffft...whatever) of our society forbid me from creating a similar experience for Cal and Nolan.  But I have found a way to approximate it (safely, of course.)  Around the corner from my house is a small park that both boys are quite fond of.  As a lazy, tired, man in his mid forties, I'm prone to driving them there.  That gave me an idea.  I live in a small gated community.  Granted, all the traffic laws on the outside do apply on the inside, but they're far less likely to be enforced, and the inside of the community is small and slowly travelled.  So-o-o-o-o...I decided I could indulge the Gina within.  I put both boys into the back of the truck, insist that they sit on their bottoms with their backs against the front of the truck bed, and then we head over to the park.  The simple back and forth (abut 45 seconds total) was such a charge for them.  They loved it.  So now I decided to drive around the community interior a bit, and I'll confess, I take a turn or two at a slightly accelerated rate (but not too fast.) They don't seem to be rolling around, or flying or bouncing or anything else that we really wouldn't want, but they do seem to be enjoying themselves an awful lot.  A little breeze in their hair, a little awareness of their personal centers of gravity, it's all good!

We've had the weekend off, and get to pick them up this afternoon and glide into week 2.  It was an awesome weekend, miss them though we did.  Looking forward to a infusing them with a little more of ma tante préférée (French for "my favorite aunt".)

Oh and Gina, if you're out there, Happy Birthday!

....and I think you stink!

Would Maury Give Me a Spa Weekend?: Day 5

Tom and I have commented to each other all week about how, though we've enjoyed having the boys here, we go forward in this life with power of our convictions that we made the right choice regarding children.

Tom has sorely missed his 1/2 hour of sitting on the couch each morning drinking coffee.  Today I actually made a concerted effort to get to work earlier than I had been, and still got there by the seat of my pants.  I have no idea how I'm going to get my Friday coffee treat tomorrow.  Tom and I have both talked of the exhaustive effects of constantly thinking about where they are, where they need to go, how they're going to get there, where we are, where we need to go, when we're ever going to get there.

When Tom found out he had a spare 30 minutes before I got home from soccer practice with the boys tonight, he was so excited because it gave him a chance to run all over town and do some errands that have been on his list all week.

When I found out I had 15 extra minutes in my afternoon, I blew off sorely needing to be done work to come home and sit on the couch and watch 15 minutes of TV.

And then there was soccer practice.  I have yet to have to accomplish soccer practice unaided.  Tuesday night a friend took control of it, drove them everywhere, and then fed them before bringing them back.  But it was after 8:00 before we got them into bed that night (far too late by Kincaid boys standards.)  Today, the coach of Nolan's team actually picked him up from daycare, got him ready, and drove him to practice.  Meanwhile, I went and got Cal, took him to Taco Bell for a one-on-one dinner treat (he had two tacos, his bill was under $3.00.)  Then we drove to Nolan's practice to watch him.  Cal was then shuttled to his practice by his coach (is your head spinning yet?) I took Nolan from his practice to get his special one-on-one dinner (chicken nuggets and an apple juice from you-know-where, his total was $5.00, whassup with that?) Then we went to Cal's practice to watch him.  Then I brought both boys home, got them washed (Nolan has taken to reminding me that the teeth need brushing, and scolds me if I forget) and then bed! 

Tom and I reheated some lasagna and sat down to eat shortly before 8:00.  We just sat there and stared at each other.  Unsure of what to say.

"Ricky Martin adopted two kids...what the hell was he thinking?" said Tom.

Ricky Martin has probably hired himself some assistance.

Said I, "Well if we had kids we'd probably wind up on the Maury Povich show with all of the obese children, because they would never be allowed to participate in organized sports that required multiple days and nights of our lives."

It just never seems to stop.  We have decided that families must live for the weekends.  Though there are two soccer games scheduled at different points in Northern California for the boys this Saturday (which will happen while Tom and I are sleeping in, thank you very much.)  But even with that, the weekends, and the non-sports themed months must be when you get to breathe just a bit and be able to soak in all of the awesomeness of having these little, totally dependent, smiling little loves hanging all over you.

But Tom thinks that he and I are probably still better off with a dog.  And dogs don't play soccer, so he's probably right.

The Brown Shoe Diaries: Day 4

We have managed to develop our morning routine, despite it only being a few days.  We wake up, I go get showered and ready for the day, while Tom wakes the boys up and gets them dressed.  Then we switch and I get them fed and finish the getting ready process while he gets ready for his day.

These mornings have had a couple of interesting twists.  Actually, considering it's only been a few days the twists might actually be the routine.

A couple of days ago I came out and found Nolan pants-less.  Tom said that he wouldn't put on his jeans because he had already worn them once (I didn't think of the "put them in the dryer for five minutes" trick until later.)   I had Tom go and get ready, I took one look at Nolan, said, "Nolan, get dressed right now please."  He got dressed (thus illuminating early on who was going to be responsible for what in this sudden micro-family.)

Today I came out and both boys were fully dressed and eating their breakfast (Go Tom!)  Then Tom pointed out that Nolan didn't have his shoes.  I prepared to scold Nolan when the reality of what Tom was saying sunk in.  Nolan wasn't refusing to put his shoes on.  Nolan didn't have his shoes.  They were nowhere to be found in the house.  See, yesterday was soccer day.  Nolan was fed, cared for, transported, and wardrobed by no less then half a dozen people.  And now, no shoes.  The Kincaids have a very firm one pair of shoes policy in their house.  One great, durable, adaptable for any occasion, pair of shoes per child.  Now one of those children didn't have his.  Oye!

Thus, I sent texts and made phone calls at 6:20 this morning (aren't you glad you weren't one of the lucky half-dozen?)  Eventually we found them at daycare.  She said she'd set them out on the front porch so Tom could just whisk by and pick them up (Nolan wasn't actually going to daycare today.)  So Tom, Cal, and a sock footed Nolan headed out this morning to take in their morning commute with one extra stop.

Tom reported later that they boys were picking at each other all the way to school.  They were actually doing the "pointing at each other and saying 'I'm not touching you' routine."  He said he had to struggle not to turn into the "Don't make me pull this car over!" parent.  I guess they're cliches for a reason.

I did wind up making Mom's Harmless Spaghetti tonight.  That's perfectly pureed tomatoes, garlic powder and onion powder (so as not to leave any identifiable bits of "stuff") and a little Italian herbs.  They both finished big bowls of it.  Then Cal announced that he would like some more bread.  Two pieces, in fact.  "With butter?" I asked.

"Mmmm...no...how about peanut butter"

"Um, sure."

"Oh, and some jelly please."

"So you want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after your bowl of spaghetti?"

"Yep."

"OK then"

Then Nolan speaks up,"I want some more bread too please."

"Do you want peanut butter on it?"

"No, just butter."

"OK"

"...and jelly...on two pieces of bread."

(Do we not use the word "sandwich" in the Kincaid household?)

So both boys had spaghetti and sandwiches for dinner.  When I spoke with Brian tonight he assured me that they are already starting to save up for their future food bills.  Good thing.

Story Time: Day 2

I called my mother tonight.  If you shush all around you, and listen very carefully, preening your ears towards the greater Southern California metropolitan area, you can probably still hear her laughing.  Laughing, and laughing, and laughing.  She conveyed to me that she had lost all hope of me ever realizing the reality of it all, since we had no children.  Again people, that realization has a little something to do with it.

In all, another good day.  And more importantly, a good routine day.  Tom had them out of the house right on schedule.  I had fetched them on time as well.  It all seemed perfect...almost too perfect.

The only ordeal of the day was Cal (7) and his homework.  Hannah had warned me to make sure he gets it done before I pick him up.  He knew that was the way it was supposed to go, but apparently I picked him up just a little too soon as it was not yet completed when I picked him up.

Upon our return home he was sentenced to the kitchen counter until he got it done.  Now I can't honestly say that he tried every trick in the book to get out of it, but he certainly worked the first half of said book, at least.

My favorite was his writing assignment.  He had to write a story about the scarecrow in their classroom.  He had it about half way done, and decided that he had probably done enough, and would take his chances and hand it in as is.  Problem: I've met his second grade teacher.  She knows that I, too, am a second grade teacher.  I will not be judged by one of my peers because Callahan Michael Kincade thinks that what he has done is enough.  And he didn't actually think it was enough.   What I got from him when I asked if the one side of the paper was what was expected of him, what I got was a shrug.  So we talked about ideas he could write about, and he went back and started writing in  a  v e r y   e l o n g a t e d   s t y l e   w i t h   m u c h   l a r g e r   l e t t e r s   t h a t    s e e m e d   t o   t a k e   u p   a   l o t   m o r e   s p a c e.  What?  Is he kidding?  Didn't he do his research?  Just who does he think invented that technique?!  ME!!!!  Thank you very much.  So back he went to do some fine tuning, all the while working towards the ultimate reward...the Holy Grail...that's right...ten minutes of Scooby Doo before bed. 

Oh, but then, just as he was getting ready for his shower (the final step before Scooby-time) he announced that he also had to do his nightly reading.  Two stories, with discussion.  Not only was I peeved, but brother Nolan had had just about enough of this Scooby-tease act that had been getting pulled on him all night.

So after showers, and before Scooby, we sat, the three of us, together on the couch.  Me in the middle holding the book, Cal on my left reading aloud, Nolan on my right, transfixed by his brother's story telling.  We discussed the important literary elements (Cal has to take a test on these stories tomorrow) and Nolan identified the different animals from My School Is a Zoo.  We laughed at the funny pictures, talked about the importance of being a good coyote friend, and practiced our howling at the moon.  That was a moment.  After all of this is done, after all of the Cheez-Its and Teddy Grahams have been chucked or consumed, that will be one of the things that stays with me.  That will be one of the things that give me pause.....what if....

Fortunately,Their Dentist Is a Friend of Mine: Day 1

So as I was walking across my kitchen floor tonight, the sound of Corn Chex cereal crunching beneath my feet, I found myself wondering something. For years, many of our friends, many with their own children, have quizzed Tom and myself on our decision not to pursue having children.  Well I have a quiz for you...are you out of your gourds?!

I sit down to contemplate this first day (whoops, potato chip pieces in the crease of the bar stool) and think about how it went, and how it will go as I go forward.

It was generally a good day.  No, it was an awesome day!  But man I'm spent.  And in fairness, I knew I would be.  We started out the day with Cal at religion school as Nolan and I went to a small local airport to watch planes take off and land.  Nolan quizzed me on the hows of flight.  I accepted my defeat early and admitted I didn't know.  This made him want to find a pilot who could answer his inquiries, and more importantly, take us up for a ride.  Neither was forthcoming.

Lunch was Subway, where Cal, with a look that indicated he realized the major authority figures in his life were off the continent, asked for, and justified, his having a full 6 inch sub instead of the junior 4-inch sub that came with the mini meal.  He got it, and you would have thought I'd told him we were off to Disneyland, he was so excited...and no Hannah, he didn't finish it.

A trip to Bed Bath & Beyond (looking for non-glass non-super heavy glassware for the boys, ignited their youthful desire to touch, pull on, and attempt to knock each other into, absolutely everything.  When I stopped to ask a woman where something was she looked at the boys, and then at me with this "Ha-ha! First timer!" look in her eyes.

At Nugget the checker (who knows me from my many weekly visits, shopping for all manner of gourmet foodie type stuff) seemed perplexed at my basket full of Lucky Charms, two kinds of juice boxes, a big box of Cheez-Its, and the makins for Chex party mix.  I told her my tale and let her know that the quality of my shopping cart would be different for the next few weeks.  With raised eyebrows, she indicated that she understood.

After an afternoon at a local park (more about that tomorrow...I think) we came home to make Chex mix for snacks for the week.   Of course both boys wanted it for dinner.  Just the Chex mix, thank you, nothing else.

Cal helped me make lasagna, but wanted no part of the chunky tomatoes in the sauce (where is my mother when I need her.) So I quickly put the boys onto hot dogs, and Tom and I had lasagna after they went to bed.

Dinner, baths, two full length Scooby Doo cartoons, and in bed by 7:00.  Not too shabby, though we'll be unable to watch TV until they fall asleep, because Cal was trying to discuss the day's news stories with us from his bed.

Speaking of bed...I think it's my time, because apparently we're riding this rollercoaster again tomorrow.  Oh crud!  I forgot to make them brush them their teeth!  Oh well...just this once...right?  That's what you all say?  Right?

Oh, and Move the Knives! 12 Hours to Go!

Some things I need to think about...

1. While setting up the boys' room I found my cordless drill plugged into the wall.  I should move that. Right?

2. The ghost from our annual Halloween setup is hanging in the closet in the same room.  Nolan has already expressed his displeasure with it.  I should move that too.

3. Be aware of the grandmother's phone number when it pops up on caller ID.  Almost blew off her call tonight because I didn't recognize the name.

4. I'm assuming that bathing them is optional.  No?  Dang!

5. If a child cries but his caregiver is passed out from too much wine to hear him, is the child really hurt?

6. Exactly how much Robitussin is too much Robitussin?

7. Even if Nolan does go back to Catholic school Pre-K and talk about climbing into bed with Mr. Tom & Mr.J.D., the odds are pretty good that the Swiss Guard, Papal Police, or some other Catholic militant organization will not be waiting for me in the afternoon when I go to pick them up.

I'm anxious, excited, nervous, calm, worried about dinner, wondering if they'll be happy here, hoping they'll be tired enough to turn in quickly tomorrow night, hoping the first morning's routine won't send Tom running for the nearest Extended Stay America.

Gee I wonder if there'll be anything to blog about tomorrow. 

As Peter Pan famously says, "Hang on everybody!  Here we go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!"

Good Thing Nolan Isn't On Facebook (37 1/2 Hours and Counting)

So you'll recall that we were at the daycare place yesterday.  Among the things that kept us long, and thus earned us our parking ticket, was Nolan.  He has agendas, and he will see them through, regardless of your opinion in the matter.  And yes, he's 4.

He wanted me to see him climb.  He wanted me to meet all of his friends.  Then as we were getting closer to leaving he wanted to show Hannah something.  Hannah told him that there wasn't time and that we had to go.  Nolan looked right at her and said, "You're not my friend Mom!"  She turned to me and smiled the smile of a mother who's getting ready to go to another country while her children stay with soft hearted friends.

As we progressed towards the door, me following Nolan and Hannah, the day care lady told us, "He said that to me this morning too."  Oh my.  So I asked Hannah how many days she thought it would be until he said that to me.  Without missing a beat, without even turning around, she held up two fingers.

I feel like I should start some sort of pool.  Who will he say it to first? (Me, duh!) When will he say it to me? (Hannah has day 2, the rest are open.)  Will he ever get around to saying it to Tom? (I'd bet not.)  And is this some sort of karma for my Facebook action earlier this week? (Not a chance.)