One of these things does not belong...

Mama: So, what do you want Santa to bring you this year for Christmas?
Me: Trains, train tracks... oh, and some telephone poles and some dirt... and some signs.
Mama: Well, what does Davis want from Santa?
Me: Baby food.
Mama: No toys?
Me: Yeah, he wants a rattle.

I better get a telephone pole this year or I will have a MAJOR freak out. Major.

Love,

Weston

Mmmmmm... cupcakes!

My brother, Davis, has never met a food he hasn't liked. For him, it's not eating... it's a full contact sport. What a little piggy. I'm much more delicate when eating a cupcake...

11 Months

Little Brother is 11 months old today. Time flies...

Three

Someone once said that whoever coined the phrase "Terrible Twos" never had a three-year old. As of yesterday, I made my official entrance into the "Trying Threes."

try⋅ing

–adjective: extremely annoying, difficult, or the like; straining one's patience and goodwill to the limit: a trying day; a trying experience.

Enough said.

My post-birthday celebration has involved a series of nuclear-style meltdowns, including screaming, kicking, biting, and foaming at the mouth. I am serious about the foam.

In spite of the massive temper tantrums, I've had a wonderful three years. How does one describe my three-year existence? Outdoor enthusiast. Stand-up comedian. Master orator. Candy connoisseur. Imagination Mover. Book worm. Big brother. Independent thinker. Amateur fire fighter. Truck savant. Unrivaled debater. Certified goofball. Cat nemesis. Charming friend.

Apple of mama's eye? Most definitely.

Happy Birthday Me!

Love,

Weston

Au contraire

At what age does one begin knowing more than one's parents? From my own experience, I think it happens around 34 months. Yes, it finally happened. I have acquired more knowledge in my nearly three-year existence than my parents' combined 71 years. Master's degrees be darned... I know everything.

This realization of my sponge-like ability to absorb knowledge is exhilarating. I wake every morning with renewed zeal to contradict what my parents say. For instance:

Mama- "You need to go potty."
Me- "No, I not need to go potty." (all the while squirming and crossing my legs)

Mama- "Those are the fire truck's lights."
Me- "Those are the sirens."
Mama- "No, those are the lights."
Me- "NO THEY NOT. Those are the sirens."

And, of course mama's personal favorite dialogue of late:

Mama- "That's the red truck."
Me- "No, it's a tow truck."
Mama- "No, it's a red truck."
Me- "No, it's a tow truck."
Mama (turning page to discover it is indeed a tow truck which happens to be red)- "Oh, it's a tow truck."

Shampoo. Rinse. Repeat.

I'm sure it is a logical fallacy to defend your argument regardless of it's accuracy. Who cares! It sure is fun to watch mama steam as she tries to contain her anger over my irritating persistence. When they got married, daddy told mama that she was always right and that he was never wrong. They never considered the unstable THIRD variable of an obstinate, strong-willed child... ME! Regardless of what mama and daddy think, I am always right... never wrong... my ideas, conclusions, and interests trump those of said parental authority!

All I can say is that, mama, you were warned long ago that payback is H3LL!

Love,

Weston

Oh Cr@p!

It was weigh-in day at the Holm house (except for Mama, but that's a given. Mama insists that some things are better left unsaid). I stepped on the scale first only to find out that I am 27 pounds soaking wet. Did I happen to mention that I will be three in September? (I don't think I've mentioned that yet. I'm into all sorts of emergency vehicles, power tools, musical instruments, and books... but I digress.) Mama thinks I'm like a colt-- long and lanky.

Next comes Davis-- and that is the reason for my title. He's not even 9 months and he scares me. Drum roll please...

...

...

...

The kid weighs 18 pounds. Did I mention that I only weigh 27 pounds? For those of you who flunked math, that is a 9 pound difference. Mama always said that I'd be in the band and now my brother is going to be a linebacker. This is not fair. Now I really have to be nice to him because from what I understand, hell hath no fury like a little brother scorned. Perhaps I shall learn to outdo him with rapier wit, devilish charm, and stunning good looks. On second thought, maybe I'll just run and hide any time I hear him thundering through the house.

Seriously, what good is it being the big brother when your little brother can bench press you with his pinky finger?

*sigh*

Much love,

Weston

The Competition is on the Move...

It is with sincere sadness (and yes, a little jealousy) that I report that my sole source of competition is now on the move. That other kid who lives in my house and has the audacity to share my bedroom (the parents call him Davis... I refuse to acknowledge his existence) is crawling. He's not very good at it at all, but he's on the move nonetheless. Mama and daddy seem excited, but I'm devastated. Once upon a time all of my beloved toys were safely kept out of reach of his sticky little hands. But now, he takes my toys and I'm expected to share... the horror! "Share" is just not a part of my vocabulary (but apparently "anemone" is... I managed to impress the parents with that one yesterday).

Why do babies have to grow so fast? I miss the days when Davis would just lie around and dare not infringe upon my territory. At least he's not talking yet. Mama might have to institutionalize herself if Davis is as verbose as I am.

Much love,

Weston

Holden Beach

A good time was had by all... 'nuff said. (Except for the fact that I'm still working on my sand collection. I have sand WHERE???)

Love,

Weston

Packing

Hi, it's Davis. I decided to log on while brother was napping.

Here I am getting ready to go see Papa. This is not how I intended to travel. I get the feeling brother had something to do with this.

Love,

Davis

Mama here...

I hope that you all have figured this out by now, but I actually write Weston's blogs. I know, I know... hard to believe. I'm Weston's mama, so I think he's a smart cookie, but I must admit, he's just too active to actually sit down and type out his blog posts himself. I usually transcribe them and yes, interject a few ideas here and there.

But sometimes I have thoughts that I want to write out, and sometimes it's difficult to do through the mind of a toddler.

Today is one of those days. I'm watching the D-Day remarks right now. When I graduated from high school, I was fortunate enough to take a trip to England and France. We toured through Mont St. Michel, the Louvre, Versailles, all the London hot spots, and even Monet's home. That was fifteen years ago and many of those memories are fading. But the most poignant part of my trip, the one memory that is forever imprinted in my rapidly fading mind (thanks, kids), is walking along the beaches of Normandy.

Have you ever seen Band of Brothers or Saving Private Ryan? Then you know just how impressionable of an experience being on the beaches of Normandy can be. I have to admit that I didn't quite "get it" as an eighteen year old. But, when I witnessed my father shedding a tear while scooping up film canisters of sand from the beach, I just begin to understand the gravity of what happened that day, so many years ago (and when my dad was only two). (By the way, I've only really remember two times when my dad has cried-- other than when mom passed-- once at Normandy and once at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Does that tell you what kind of man he is?)

It's days like today when I can't fathom how fortunate I am to be free. I have two beautiful and brilliant children (a mama can brag, right) and with each of their passing days, I appreciate my freedoms and liberties more and more each day. For I believe that those who made sacrifices that day, were thinking about their children and MY children.

I tend to get bogged down by the little things... losing pregnancy weight, taming tantrums, fixing dinner... but today it will be the big picture, and what a big picture it is.

Thanks men and women of the armed forces for what you do. Thanks dad for showing me the importance of sacrifice (see you on Monday, by the way).

Much love,

Mama

All Aboard!

All aboard the potty train... choo choo! At least mama thinks this is a good idea. The truth is that I LIKE wearing diapers. In fact, I think they're quite fashionable.

Here's some math for you: stubborn toddler + delusional mama = train wreck.

I enjoyed a nice, relaxing weekend at the lake house, even though I spent the majority of my waking hours sitting on a creepy looking plastic frog potty, waiting for mama to "cheer" for the occurrence of what I typically deem "natural bodily functions." Adults are so weird.

At least I got to go swimming and go deer watching during the off time.

During the long car rides to and from the lake house, you tend to notice things.

While looking at the moon:

Me: I see the moon. Is it broken?

Mama: No, it's just a crescent moon. It's supposed to look like that.

Me: Will it be fixed?

Mama: (silence)

While looking at the clouds:

Me: The clouds are moving?

Mama: Yes, the clouds are moving.

Me: Are they going to the moon?

Mama: (silence)

Why are my questions so difficult to answer? Isn't it funny how two-year olds are often much smarter than their parents?

Love,

Weston

Words Mama must use a lot

It's a good thing mama doesn't swear (at least within my range of hearing). I've really been imitating her recently. Well, her AND the Imagination Movers. Here are some words/phrases I've been using lately:

• "I guess."
• "Actually..."
• "Just a minute."
• "Oh, I'm doing nothing."
• "What else?"

Today, I asked for a "bad hair day," courtesy of Scott from the Imagination Movers. Mom got out her mousse and hairspray and did my hair all Truvy from Steel Magnolias style. Davis even got his own bad hair day, but it didn't stay very long.

I'm heading off to the beach to see Papa Waller soon. I'll be gone for two whole weeks and I plan to return with a tan that rivals George Hamilton's. I can. not. wait.

(Mama, who ARE these people you keep making me reference.)

Peace out,
Weston

Daddy smart... Mama, not so much

Mama took Davis and me to Central Market today while the piano tuner was at the house. Davis spilled tortilla soup all over mama (but that's another story).

I got my green balloon from Central Market and when we got home, mama decided to tie it to a cow bell toy, so it wouldn't blow away. I've been walking around the house jangling the cow bell all day. I'm sure mama doesn't have the heart to take it away from because she knows I'll scream if she does. Why on earth would mama tie my balloon to the noisiest toy in the house... she's not so smart.

Here's hoping I get daddy's brains...

Love,

Weston

PS- Mema, if you read this, I promise the balloon will be totally deflated by the time you visit... no popping!

Dad's Blog

Check it out. Book reviews. Yeah, he's smart. ;)

http://jkholm.blogspot.com/

Love,

Weston

Davis here...

Hi all! It's Davis. I thought I would take the blog for a while and let you know how I was doing. First, I must get something off my chest. I find it totally unfair that Weston has his own blog, his own baby book, AND his own clothes. I have to wear his hand-me-downs... so wrong. But, that kid is hi-lar-i-ous! He is always making me laugh.

Back to me. I am FINALLY rolling front to back. I'm also sitting independently, except for when brother comes and pushes me over. Ouch. I have two teeth and two more on the way. I am now eating solid foods and enjoy peas, squash, and sweet potatoes. I've tried apples once. Mom is trying me on all the veggies first, so I won't develop a sweet tooth. Good luck with that, mom. We share DNA... I'll have a sweet tooth.

Love ,

Davis

Rise and Shine!

Davis and I did it... again! We planned and schemed, schemed and planned. Davis decided to go for the 4:00 am wake-up and I went for the 6:00 am wake-up. Mission accomplished! Now I'm getting 3 straight hours of television, while mama drowns her sorrows in a bottomless cup of coffee.

I'm looking forward to the Cottonwood Arts Festival today. Kettle corn, here I come!

Catch you later,

Weston

Has it really been five months?

I can't believe it's been 5 months since I last updated my blog. Daddy decided to take Brother and me out in the stroller to go see the new fire station, and since mama is my secretary, it gave her a few minutes to update my fans.

This has been a busy week. Spring is here and mama is restless, so we've been hitting the town. We've been to the Children's Museum, the zoo, and to the fire station open house this week. Yeah, yeah, we made several trips to Target, but that's all in a days work.

I got to see a pig at the zoo today. He was neither sniffling nor sneezing, so I assume he was not sick with the Swine Flu. Oh, excuse me, I mean H1N1 Flu. Apparently pigs around the world are offended by the term "Swine Flu." Other than a very sad looking piggy, I got to see monkeys, giraffes, rhinoceri (is that the plural form of rhinoceros?), butterflies, crocodiles... you name it, I saw it.

However, the highlight of the week was the fire station open house. The new fire station is finally complete, and GUESS WHAT? They opened it up for the whole neighborhood to see. I got to sit in a REAL FIRE ENGINE. Dad wanted to climb on top of it, but was afraid he would cause a commotion. The new fire engine is the coolest thing ever! I'm hoping they have another open house very soon.

Brother is still visiting. I'm not sure when he is going to leave. I mean, he's cute and all, but since he's arrived, there's less room on mama's lap and less attention overall. So, to ensure that I get adequate "mama time," I've decided to forgo my afternoon nap. Sure, I get a little cranky in the afternoon, but that means more quality time with mama, and that's a good thing, right?

I guess the worst thing about having Brother around is that he is now sharing my room. This transition has been REAL fun for mama and daddy. What they don't realize is that we take turns waking up at night. Mama and daddy aren't getting any sleep. It's all in good fun!

Enjoy the update! Much love,

Weston