Winning!

 Go Cocks!  

 

We don't think it's just a coincidence that South Carolina brought home their second consecutive NCAA  baseball championship the same year that we are pregnant with our own Baby Cocks.  No, the team didn't rub my belly, but it's a good sign, for sure.  Baby Cocks is winning!

Many of you stayed up late to watch the series unfold and noted that our Gamecocks made their fans hold their breath and eyelids open through extra innings.  Let's all hope that Baby Cocks doesn't require extra innings in labor and delivery.

Melodrama

I was lying in bed when I overheard a tiff between Daddy and Henry last night.  It sounded like Daddy was adamant about Henry brushing his teeth before putting on a band-aid, and Henry was disproportionately adamant about putting on the band-aid before brushing his teeth.  His justification?

If I don't put it on now, it will hurt for TEN YEARS!

Daddy's Day Out

I'm giving myself a pat on the back for coordinating Cory's Father's Day extravaganza.  The most deserving of pats, though, are Grandjane, Grandjoe, and Elizabeth.  They did the labor and heavy lifting, starting on Friday when Grandjane and Elizabeth came over and cleaned the house, top to bottom, and even cleaned out the pea gravel laden truck bed.  Cory was quite pleased about the house cleaning break.

Saturday Morning: Gone Fishing

To Paris Mountain

One of the many spots Daddy says they stopped to fish along the lake...

A tiny brim borrowed from Daddy!

A "camoo" ride in which Daddy was surprised at how well Henry was able to paddle

Upon returning home from Paris Mountain, Daddy discovered that Grandjoe, Grandjane, and Elizabeth cut the grass, did some weeding and trim work, and even picked up the many fallen limbs from our most recent storm.  They also set up his surprise present...

A regulation size disc golf basket!  Thanks to Grandjoe and Grandjane for picking up my Craiglist find.

Penny is catching on to the idea of not catching on to the discs.  It will be a while, though, before she can be fully trusted not to catch a golf frisbee.  Totally confusing for her, I'm sure!

Then, after a grilled hotdog dinner, we settled by a backyard campfire for roasted marshmallows and a really, really, really ridiculously long campfire story.  

First, Daddy prepared the smoker for his first brisket.

Daddy's boy could hardly wait to properly roast his sugary, gelatinous confection.

Finally, Daddy and son were ready to turn in and sleep in the backyard tent.

Directly overhead lightening, loud thunder, and a heavy downpour forced Daddy to bring a sleep-fussing boy back inside at 4:30 AM.  

And, on Sunday morning, we caught our first whiffs of the mouthwatering brisket.

To be shared with the Daddy's Day Out staff members, including my very own Daddy.

It was a great opportunity to show a fraction of my gratitude for Cory's unrelenting hard work that keeps our house running smoothly.  Thanks for all the help.  We got us a surprised, happy, and relaxed Daddy!

Best Seat in the House

Daddy, your boy luuuuuuuuuuuuvs you.

Happy Father's Day to the man who makes me feel like a genius for having kids with the very best Daddy.

Stubbornly Defiant

Henry left the tantrum phase behind many, many months ago.  Good news, yes?  The problem is that he traded in tantrums for outright defiance and seems to be sticking with perfecting it.

Earlier tonight, right before Daddy got dinner ready, I told Henry that I would help him put all his coins back in his train bank. It was time for him to wash his hands, and we would take care of the coins after dinner.

I forgot all about it and was lying down beside him in his bed when I remembered that the coins were still scattered across the living room rug.

Silly me.  I decided to mention it and tell him that we could pick them up tomorrow if he got ready for school really quickly.

Bad move.

All he wanted to do was to get down and pick up the coins, which would take about 45 minutes given his state of mind.  He understood that I would take the coins away if he tried to go into the living room.  Still, he would get halfway down his stepping stool and say, "I really am going to go in there!"

I couldn't stand how much I had to pee.  I told him that I would go to the potty, and I hoped that he would make a good choice and get back into the bed since, by this time, he was standing beside his bed, still threatening to go into the living room.

It was a good extra ten minutes before I checked on him and found him curled up on the floor beside his bed.  Thinking he might be asleep, I whispered, "Henry?"  He rolled over to look at me with eyes wide open.

"You need to get back in bed."
"No."
"Are you really going to sleep on the floor?"
"Yes!  I'm not getting in the bed."
"OK.  Night night."

About ten minutes later, he started crying and got back in bed, citing a dirty floor.  He tried to demand that I get back in the bed, but this Mama can't get up and down, and I sure don't want to waste an up and down on a cave in.

Mathematician

There was some parenting article that I skimmed recently that suggested not passing on your math anxiety to your kids.  Believe it or not, I think we already knew not to teach Henry to hate math.  Go figure.

I have to say that I am quite proud of Cory and me for working math into our daily narrative with Henry, and this morning, I realized that taking advantage of Henry's enthusiasm for learning might be working.  For several months, he has been able to answer our questions about, "How many pillows will be left if I take one from this stack before you try to hurdle it?" or "If Mama puts two more grapes on your plate, how many will you have?"  Of course, there are clear visuals to prompt his answers.

This morning, though, I told H that I would let him watch his show after he took four more bites of his scrambled egg.  He took two, and then he said, "Now I need to take two more bites!"  The mathematical statement was unprompted by me, and I lack the education jargon to explain how it's different, but it is. I thought it was rather cool, and now I am getting away with myself.   Is it possible that my verbal chid has a potentially well rounded academic future?  My child?

For the record, we do not make eggs and such on a typical week day morning, and television is never an option, either. Today was a special Daddy and son waterpark day, and they didn't have to leave the house until 10:00 AM.

Waterpark + Crocs = Wiggle Room

Too much Wiggle Room + Television = Late Departure for Waterpark

If you were Henry...

You wouldn't just get songs stuck in your head.  No, you would also get "a song stuck in my stomach that I need to sing."

Will he always be this funny to us?