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