Cael's favorite song is Hey Soul Sister by Train. He runs around the house singing it several times a day. He's got some of the words in the verses down - he nails "tonight!" every time and with much enthusiasm. The best part, though, is the chorus, which consists of repeating the word, "hey" a TON. He's solid on that.

He sings it so much that the rest of the house can't help but chime in.

Finn is trying to one-up Cael's impressive feat of taking his first steps in the bath tub during bath time by making his first word be sung. Work it, little man!

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Cael: Mama, you are a girl.
Allie: That's right. I am. Do you know any other girls?
Cael: Lolo.
Allie: Yup! Lolo's a girl. Anyone else?
Cael: Grandma Tracey!
Allie: Right! Anyone else?
Cael: Andy!
Allie: Andy's not a girl! Andy's a boy.
Cael: That's silly, Mama. Andy's a girl!
Allie: I'm pretty sure he's a boy.
Cael: That's silly!
Allie: And guess what's even sillier - your dad's a boy too!
Cael: [laughs hysterically]

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If you've ever eaten my homemade cuisine, you know that if the grater is involved the cuisine becomes more along the lines of "hand-crafted." Cheese, carrots, cucumbers - they typically come with a side of finger. I don't know how it happens, but I'd say at least a quarter of the times I bring out that shinning, metal death trap I lose a little something. Same goes for the peeler. (I'm convinced that's why humans evolved with fingernails. They're like shields!) Ryan won't let me use either item when he's in the house. It's just safer that way.

Today I made a further step in the direction of "world's worst housewife" when I managed to disable myself with the vacuum. I was lifting it up to get it over a cord and the dang thing actually sucked up my toes. It didn't feel like roses.

I think this is just a sign that chores + Allie leads to violence. I should probably not get out of bed anymore. Or I should hire a maid and a chef.

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Martin's little helpers.

Notice the only person not participating in exercises? That's right, suckers! No squats for me. I shall continue to sit here on the couch, multiple bars of chocolate within easy reach.

(And yes, I know the picture is not the best quality. Turns out the only ones I got that weren't blurry had Cael picking his nose. I figure that's not something that needs to be immortalized.)

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I love Christmas. Come November, I start playing Kenny and Dolly's Once Upon a Christmas soundtrack and planning where I'm going to put the decorations. I like seeing the bell ringers at Fred Meyer, the terribly hung lights on the neighbors' houses, those god-awful giant snow globes, the holiday themed car ads - the whole experience.

As a child, I wanted this feeling to continue through February. But now that I'm in my own house, come December 26th, it suddenly overwhelms me. It's like a switch is flipped and Christmas becomes clutter. It threatens to swallow me and I can't stand to look at it. Our tree is already down. The decorations are in Rubbermaids in the garage. Everything Christmas is wiped from the house before the end of the 26th or I start twitching. (It's so bad that I even seriously considered taking the tree down last night.)

I used to think Boxing Day had something to do with fighting, but now I'm convinced it is the international day of putting away decorations. I could google it, but that'd ruin the mystique.

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Cael loves baths. Loves them right up until it's time to wash his hair. Then they become screaming fests. Full blown tantrums with swatting arms and big, crocodile tears. It's been that way for probably close to two years now. We only wash his hair every other bath, just to preserve some amount of pleasure in the experience. He got special toys, crayons, bubbles - every little thing possible to make his bath more entertaining. And it has made them more entertaining, but regardless of how much fun he had in the lead-in, once we get to the main event all hell breaks loose.

He flips out when water gets on his hair because he's convinced that means it's headed straight for his eyes. (Anyone who's seen him in swim class knows, even the thought of it makes him start screaming.) We tried special pitchers, washcloths, different shower heads - nothing was good enough for him. If he felt a single drop on his cheek, the game was over.

Well, no more! Cael's "Super Duper Magic Hat" arrived in the mail and was put to use during his bath today. I swore up and down that he would get not a single drop of water in his eyes if he let me put the hat on before I washed his hair. He very reluctantly agreed (there may have been bribery involved). I'll let Cael tell you how the whole experience worked out:

He even asked for a second washing. I kid you not! He requested his hair be washed! Best thing ever.

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