houpley

Jackson is a whiner. He knows every crack in the dirty sidewalks of Whineville. Yes, I will admit this is an inherited trait. My parents have regaled me with tales of my never-ending whining. So as the cycle continues, now it is my turn to hear the whiny-whine-whine that comes with snack requests, bedtime stalling, fears, don't-want-tos, etc. Whining is the name of his game. We tried some traditional tactics like pretending not to hear him when the first syllable whines its way out of his mouth. It worked sometimes but was really hit or miss. And his frustration from feeling as though he wasn't being heard would overcome any thoughts about actually stopping the whine. So then we tried mapping out a plan and explaining thoroughly that "every time you whine, we are going to ignore it." He agreed. But again the strategy to de-whine the boy was never consistent. There's been a load of compromising. It's almost as though he can't help it. He doesn't even re...

Man, I am really bummed about my verbena dying. Dying? Yes, it's dead. Got too cold for it. It's dead? Yes. We'll have to pull it up. Yeah. My friend Carlos's dad died. What? Yup. He died. Do you know what that means? Yes ... What does it mean? It means to be gone forever. So be careful saying that about people, ok? It's not nice to just toss around about people if it isn't true. It's true. He died. Really? Yep. Ok then, how did he die? He got killed. By whom? Uh .... UPS? Sidenote: Jackson has no friend named Carlos. He does however, have enemies in the postal industry.

Once there was a boy who had asked me out many times but we were always in the wrong place: geographically and emotionally. So when things finally did get lined up I was excited to get this party started. He took me to a fancy spot for dinner. It was a Swiss-Italian restaurant that had an ever-changing menu. During conversations at parties or over the phone or even through mail, we always clicked and shared the same interests and sense of humor so I felt this would be an evening of good conversation. A major dating plus. Things were off to a good start. Lots of chatting, Lots of witty repartee. He was polite, chivalrous yet smart and funny. And then we perused the menu. One seasonal menu item that sparked some dialogue was a meal of kangaroo. Yes, Kanga. Roo. I realize people around the globe eat kangaroo. But, I was dismayed. As an animal lover, I expressed distaste for such an item. While not a vegetarian, I thought the beastly choice was over the top. I said as much. My date laughed...

This bacon is getting kind of old. Hey Eric, does bacon go bad? No, bacon doesn't go bad. Hello! Bacon Bits!

Mama how did Jesus make bottoms? Well ... I guess ... uh ... really, God made the whole body all together so he just added bottoms, too. Yeah but how does he do it? How? Like how does he make them? On a table or a floor or a rug or a couch or outside or on a porch? -

Jackson is enamored with Toy Story 3. He has never seen the other movies but close friends of ours (Niki and Tim) gave him the movie and he has watched it over and over. While I love the overall message and the endearing characters, I'm not thrilled with the name calling. But who doesn't love Toy Story? I swear, I cry every time we watch it. I also love the fact that Jackson has a Woody cowboy (also from Niki and Tim) and a Buzz Lightyear (garage-sale find) that he pals around with. The other night, while tucking Jackson in for bed I picked up Woody and tucked him under my arm to put away. Jackson was most concerned. "Mama! Woody does not like being in your armpit!" -

Granddaddy? Why do you love me? Well, why do you love us? Is it 'cause I'm wonderful?

I try to watch my language around Jackson. I really do. But everybody knows some things just fly from your lips before your brain can calculate the damage. Especially in the middle of an elaborate tale or heated discussion. Who doesn't love some colorful language every now and then? We are, and have been, pretty careful around Jackson. So much so that really the only word he catches me with is "freakin'." I say "catches" because Jackson has declared himself The Boss of Bad Words, The BBW. The BBW runs a strict program. His tight regimen includes checking to ensure we aren't saying "weird" or "kill" or "dead" or "shoot" and so forth. It seems our efforts to keep him from name calling or using not-so-nice phrases with his friends has started to backfire. However, when you get down to it, a three-year-old has so little power in the household, we allow The BBW his rule. But I'm beginning to worry there has been a c...

Mama? Yes. Can you come turn the light on in the bathroom? I hafta go potty. Sure. ... Jackson! The light is already on. I know. I teased ya! -

Hey there. This yellow polo looks good on you. Yeah? Yeah. You look so ... tall. Yeah? Yeah. You think this yellow polo is making me look tall? Yeah. I think maybe your glass of wine is making me look tall. -