BOGS

Go to the Mattresses

I've been horribly remiss in not posting about two MAJOR developments.  First, the big boy beds are fully operational!  Although it took weeks on our part (a trip to ikea one weekend to buy the actual nothing-is-too-good-for-my-preshus-babies particle-board beds themselves, a few more weeks to motivate to buy mattresses and bedding, plus at least another week to overcome our dread of the whole ikea assembly process), the boys took to them immediately.  They were thrilled about ditching those childish cribs and moving to tricked-out big boy beds (as Bee put it, "jumping on the bed is awesome, bruder!").  We were worried that they'd never go to bed once they realized how easy it was to hop on out, but so far, so good.  In fact, Owen solemnly told me at bedtime that "we don't get out of bed in the night time and we don't go peepee or poopoo in our underwears."  And yes, we're aware of the potential conflict built into those two rules (and as my brother so kindly pointed out, Owen's head might actually explode if forced to choose between them).  Of course, the rule has been broken on a few occasions, like the time when Kevin went in at 4:30am because Bee was crying, only to be greeted by the sight of Owen snuggled in Brendan's bed "reading" to him from the Dr. Seuss sleep book because Bee was "scared." 

And now, instead of our mornings going something like this:

Bee:  Moooommmmy? Mooommmmy?  I want you.  Now you call, bruder.

Oh:  Daaaadddddy? Ohhh, Daaadddyy?  Now I do it loud.

Together:  Okay, ready, one, two, three…MOOOOMMMMY!! DAAADDDDY!

we're awakened by two little munchkins attacking our feet and saying "tickle, tickle, tickle!" after which I'm immediately handed my glasses and ordered to "get up, mommy, get up!"  But all in all, it was a way easier transition than we had any right to expect. 

[Pictures to follow; at the moment my computer with its zillion Browen photos is being held hostage in the Hamptons, in a house with DIAL-UP INTERNET.  Who knew that was even an option anymore?]

Sweet Nothings

So last week, during bedtime stories, Brendan looks up from our book and says to me, "Mommy, I glad you here.  I love you."  And then I died.  The emotional impact was only slightly lessened by my initial confusion as to why Bee wanted to "grab my hair."  Of course, this is the same kid who demanded "I want my pants off" after finishing dinner so it's not all sonnets and sentiment over here.

Um, also, photos would suggest that my children are apparently BOYS, not babies (holy hell!).  I suppose the driving should have tipped me off.

 

Things to Do in Buffalo When You're Two

We celebrated the fourth of July old-school this year, back at the Buffalo homestead.  The boys had a blast - lots of doting relatives, pool time, and, oh right, boozing, eating cake, being near-suffocated in plastic bags, and joyriding car-seat-free around the neighborhood in a convertible, squealing and shouting "PapaDoc, what did you do???" at every turn.  Okay, the "booze" was apple juice and the plastic bags were what pass for ponchos on the Maid of the Mist boat ride at Niagara Falls, so maybe we won't win Parents of the Year after all.   

 

Where the Wild Things Are

It's clear that the lineage of the fierce and warlike Wallace clan runs strong in the boys.  We're talking real warrior spirit here, even when faced with ferocious and terrifying mythical beasts. 

Snacky-cakes

Have I already mentioned Browen's undying love of "TREATS"?  Because let me tell you, they are biiiig fans.  The best part is that they think they're being all slick and subtle about it.   A few days ago, Bee and I  were perusing the frig for a snack.  We discussed the relative merits of grapes, cottage cheese, carrots, and then he, ever so casually, suggested, "Hmm, maybe how about … pudding?!?"  And then this weekend, at the bagel store, after checking out the muffins on offer, Owen definitively declared, "I like crunchy muffins!"  Um, yeah, that would be the cupcakes with sprinkles.  Nice try, gentlemen. 

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

So Kevin has been teaching the boys how to pitch.  Their big takeaway so far is that without fail, above all else, you absolutely must lift your leg before throwing the ball.  The concentration on Oh's face as he tries to simultaneously bring the ball back over his head, lift his leg, and keep his balance while throwing – it kills me every single time.  And then after the pitch, he says “perfect throw.”  Lest you go thinking he’s all egotistical and what not, he tells me the same thing when I throw the ball back to him.   Which, if you’d  been in my 7th grade p.e. class, you would know is extremely charitable.

 

Bee's working more on his hitting skills although he does tend to use the bat more like a golf club.  It's really a mental game for him though.  Yesterday, while swinging around a bat, he managed to poke Owen in the eye with it.  Strategically, Bee immediately launched into a bout of preemptive crying before he was carted off for a "no hitting" timeout.   Owen, totally unphased by the assault, quickly asked "Brendan getting a timeout?  I go see!" and scampered off after him, presumably to gloat...

Browenisms Part Deux

Brendan:  Lions don't live in baths.  They live in houses. 

Owen:  We have to be quiet because the trees are sleeping (I know, I don't get this either).

After I complimented them on working together to carry out the recycling (yep, that's right, I take total advantage of them in a tom-sawyer-paint-the-fence sort of way):
    Owen:  That's because we friends.  We BROTHERS!

After Brendan and Kevin beat Owen and me across the street:
    Brendan:  Mommy, we've been waiting since the dinosaurs.

Upon being informed that his grandmother is taking a nap:
    Owen:  Grandma is sleeping?  I just go take a little peek?

After seeing an apple and calling it a pear:
    Brendan:  Oh, mommy, I was just joking.

Owen:  I want to be in the maestro band, see what I can play.  Okay, I play piano, Brendan play drums, you play maraca, daddy.

 

Some of the Lesser Known Perils of Riverside Park

Here's a conversation Owen and I had earlier this week, fondly reminiscing about his recent tumble running down the hill to the playground:

Owen:  Mommy, you remember, I running superfast.

Me:  Yep, I remember. 

Owen:  And then I fell.

Me:  Uh-huh.

Owen:  And dogs didn't eat me.

That is one weird little dude.

Camera Shy

The boys' new summer hats and shades arrived a few days ago (as they'll both tell you, Owen's is for trips to the jungle, while Bee's is for jaunts to the beach), which sparked an impromptu modeling session.  This in turn led to the boys seizing control of the camera and, once you weed out the various pictures of the floor and ceiling, their shots actually turned out pretty well.  Annie Leibovitz better watch her back. 

Browenisms

I wanted to share some choice bon mots recently overheard at our house:

Owen: Patty cake, patty cake, bake me a man.

Brendan: Woweeee!  Big thumb up!

Owen: I'm PSYCHED (arm pumping).  Mommy, that means I excited! 

Brendan, upon a pants-free Owen hopping into his crib: Bruder, don't pee in my bed!

Owen, upon me coming into their bedroom in the morning:  Mommy, watch out for boogers I put on rug!  See one there, and there, and there!

Brendan, dreamily to himself in his crib pre-nap, loudly enough to hear through the door: I ready for some delicious chocolate ice cream now!

Owen, during dinner, to no one in particular: Why do spoons go in the mustard [hummus]?  Only carrots go in the mustard [hummus].  Let me lick this off. 

Brendan, singing: What time is it?  It's time to get up and dance!

Owen, after losing his cherished toy ice cream cone, sadly murmuring: I had it just a minute ago.

Both of them, all the time now that I've taught them this hilarious joke: You know what?  (What?) CHICKEN BUTT.

Both of them, pretty much every night during the post-dinner pre-bath stripdown: NAKED BODDDDYYYY TIME!