All Thumbs Up

So when I suggested Gavin have cereal for breakfast, and he started whining about how “it seems like cereal is the only food in the world,” or some such baloney (because we haven’t even had cereal for days), I reverted to a joke I’ve been using lately; “Don’t like it? You can always call 1-800-DSS-ASAP!”

As in: Oh, we’re sorry. Didn’t get what you wanted for supper? Call DSS!
Or: Aw. Mom and Dad making you go to BED? Call DSS!

It is amazing, now that he knows what I’m joking about, how sobering it is for him, and how quickly it jerks him out of his pity-party-du-moment. He also admitted this morning, “Mom, that’s actually really funny!”

I KNOW it’s all inappropriate and crap, or whatever, but my boy is so wonderfully precocious with an AWESOME sense of humor; apparently he can handle it.

ANYHOO… he proceeded to find and wield the English Muffins as what he wanted for breakfast. I gave him a few pointers and a few lost moments later, I look over and he’s having himself a breakfast he made by himself.

I love these moments. “Um, EXCUSE ME, but did YOU just make your OWN breakfast?!?!!”
He gets excited, nodding yes (with jam on his cheek).
“HOW do you feel about yourself NOW!??”
He’s psyched.

We took the pix to celebrate:

Yeah Boy!

Apparently learning the clean up part is still in the works.  That’s him in the background having wandered off to get lost in a book as he does so often these days (#colormehappy).

Clean up or Read? Hmm…

So it’s a Happy Rosh Hashanah so far (no school).

So in the time I’ve written this desperately-dashed-out post (lest I *never* *ever* post), the following has happened, from my vantage point here at the kitchen table:

– Daddy and ClaraJane have streaked in and out, squealing and naked, *twice.*  (No pic available, sorry.)

– ClaraJane responded to my suggestion that she take a bath by threatening me with a sword:

So, no bath?

– Daddy got her dressed anyway, to this effect:

(Busy Twirling)

-Daddy got himSELF dressed and is starting to get frustrated with me for not getting a MOVE on it.

So, there you go; not a day but TWENTY MINUTES in The Life.

Happy Rosh Hashanah!