Time to Catch Up!

It's been so long! How I've missed my beloved computer and the opportunity to do something my way, without the fear of meeting with whining, protest, or other toddler drama. I'd do it if I hadn't a friend in the world to read it. So let's get down to business.
Have y'all ever noticed this? When you threaten your kid to share or you'll take the away the toy, it's totally hypocritical. Certainly no reason to stop doing it; just an observation.
I was made into a fool in the store a while back. I was in Wal-Mart, (where else?) just wrapping up a lecture to Jesse about watching where he was going, as I dropped him back into the cart after he'd run out in front of someone trying to pass. It was at that precise moment, when I looked up just in time to jerk my cart back from the brink of plowing right into the backside of an overweight, handicapped senior. I was literally within an inch. Sometimes God finds the perfect way of getting our attention and pulling us back down to planet Humble.
Jesse's a freak. He, like so many children, likes things done HIS way. (Nothing remarkable there.) But with pants, his way happens to mean pulled up to the armpits. It's attractive. He and Fred Merts would get along great. He also puts his cars to sleep at night by lining them up on his dresser, upside down, so they're resting on their roofs. That's how cars sleep, don't ya know... Also, after food is prepared and brought to the proper heat, it must then, "Get cold!" (Meaning it must be placed on his plate and inserted into the fridge until it is no more than room temperature.) This applies to all food. Jes is now potty trained, but back in the day when he wore pull ups, his "big boy pants" had pockets. At least, he felt they did. Simply put your gear inside. Insert your matchbox car or your jet or tank between the skin and the hip area of the diaper, pat it twice, and you're good to go. He also likes to clip his dad's fire fighter radio on the top of his pull up. Confusingly, he calls this radio itself a pocket. And I thought English was confusing.
Gabe's another story. Another freak show, that is. I've found that I'm sometimes willing to let him completely destroy my under-sink organization in the bathroom, just to get five cry-free minutes to do my hair and makeup. I've stopped doing this though cause the last time it happened, when I went to put everything back in its place I found my custom fit upper teeth-whitening tray looped around the toilet brush. Sort of turned me off to the whole routine.
Still I must admit, there's something glorious about the jiggle of my baby's buns as he trots naked across the bathroom after I bathe him. And no matter how calculated and defiant Jesse is sometimes, that fiendish smile he gets on his face when I catch him makes the whole thing seem almost fun. And despite my grumbling at STILL having to occasionally nurse Gabriel, there's something very natural and right about the feeling you get from soothing a scared, crying baby back to sleep, feeding him that way. And do you know what really floors me? How is it that a child can trust me so implicitly that he can wake up in a totally different location from where he fell asleep, terrified or devastated or wounded from his dreams, and realizing that he's in my arms, be comforted enough to not only be calmed, but drift back into sleep? And he does this without regard for light or sound conditions, or physical surroundings, or uncomfortable body positioning... It sure bestows a sense of responsibility, but also a feeling of honor and gratitude and humility. Being a parent to my sweet boys is just priceless. I'll try to remember that next time I feel deflated at the realization that Halle Barry looks better pregnant than I did at my high school prom.