So Adin turned three on Monday. He had been waiting for that for weeks, he kept telling all of us that his birthday was “A-cember 10.” And well, A-cember 10 finally got here. He loved all his presents, (thanks everyone). His favorite had to be the tyrannosaurus Rex we got him. He’s big into dinosaurs right. I mean come on, what boy isn’t at this age. So of course, we got him this nice sized T-Rex that's mouth opens and closes as he growls (or does a rex roar?). So what does our precious Adin do with this dino? He chases his brother around the house having the Rexy “eat” Arin. Poor Arin is running away crying, but does Adin care? No, of course not. Because as a big brother, it is fun to torment.
But, oh a semi-good note, Adin is officially out of diapers. He has been all underwear since A-cember 7th. It started out awesome and has slowly started to go downhill. He has not been accident-free in three days. I am beginning to think he is just doing this because he thinks that the look of exasperation on my face when he tells me. Like tonight before bed I asked him 3 times, 3 times if he needed to go pee in the potty. Not even 5 minutes after I returned downstairs after the nightly tuck-tuck did I hear this;
Adin: “Mommy, I need new pants.”
Me: “Why Adin?”
Adin: “Cuz.”
Me: “Because WHY Adin Christopher?”
Adin: “Because these are wet.”
Me: “How did they get wet Adin?”
Adin: “It just an accident Mom. It just an accident.”
He tells me this as he is looking around the banister smiling at me. Accident my butt.

I also answer to Mama, Mommy, Ma, Lady that gave birth to me, and a few others. What I do NOT answer to is Daddy. Yea, try telling the 20 month old that. He refuses to call me mom. It is always "daddy, daddy" oh and today, he even called me Nana.
So this is what I would like to say to Arin:

"I carried you for 41 weeks and 3 days, I delivered your little punk butt with no epidural, I breastfed you exclusively for the first 8 months of your life and then continued on until you were 14 months old. I am home with you all day long. I kiss the bad ow’s and boo-boos. I change your butt. I tuck you in at night and say your prayers with you. I could go on and on. But look child, all I am asking is for a little consideration. Just a tad. I know that you a capable of saying Mommy. You have let it slip every now and then and if we tell you to say mommy or momma, you will. But why is it that every time you look at me, you call me Daddy? I just wanted to let you know that while I love you to bits and bits, I'd like a little of that in return. I'd like to walk in the door and you look up and yell, ‘Mommy's home!’ When I pick you up over the baby gate, how about a ‘thanks Mom’ instead of ‘thanks Daddy.’ Could you do that for me please? Thanks a bunch.”

*Now don't get me wrong, Daddy is a great guy and he helps out a ton around here. I just want my baby to call me by my name, not his.

So we were sitting on the floor this morning, playing with toys when I was trying to convince the boys that it was nap time. Of course, this was met with some resistance by the older one, Adin. Seeing how they love to drink milk, I tried to bribe him with a sippy cup full of his drink of choice. Then, out of the blue, Adin asks me, "Mommy, where get milk at?" I informed him that I bought the milk at the store but that is not where the milk is really from. Obviously I have lost the 3 year old at this point because he looked up at me and said, "huh?" I proceeded to tell him that milk comes from cows, and since I was oh so conveniently holding a stuffed one, I showed him the utters and explained to him that the cow is milked and then pasteurized and bottled, then goes to the store, them mommy and daddy buy it. He was intrigued by this, so he began to ask me where other things come from. He thought that cows were pretty cool since not only do they give us milk, but the give us steak and hamburger too. I decided to leave out the part where I tell him that they have to kill the cow to get his yummy steak for now. At three years old, he has a pretty good idea what death is. He knows that if you kill a bug, it dies and that Gil and Sharkbait died and are gone for good. (Those were our 2 angel fish that Adin and Arin decided were starving, so they fed them coffee and an entire bag of algae while mommy was on the phone with the doctor. Aren't they sweet?)

I don't want to sugar coat death but, "the earlier and more naturally the concept of death is taught the more likely children with develop a healthy and fuller appreciation of life." (Crenshaw, David A.) I can see that Adin is trying to wrap his little mind around the fact of life that is death. While watching the news with us one evening, Adin looks at the TV and asks us who they were talking about and what happened to him. I just told him the facts. That Sean Taylor was a football player who died. Adin then asked me, “Somebody die him?” I told him yes, some bad guys shot him and he died and that’s why we don’t ever play with guns. Adin looked at the TV and Sean’s picture and said, “Oh, I sorry.” That made me even sadder than I already was. The look on Adin’s face was as if he had lost one of his best friends. And it’s not like he knew who he was.

Crenshaw, David A.. "Helping Toddlers and Preschool Children with their Grief." SearchWarp.com. 10 Feb 2006. Rhinebeck Child and Family Center, LLC. 4 Dec 2007 <http://searchwarp.com/swa39856.htm>.

Having children around you can be quite humorous. We were in the kitchen making gingerbread cookies last week and of course I had my boys sitting on the counter all up in the cookie dough helping me. Well my three year old has his little ball of dough, which he rolls in between his hands, making a cylindrical looking thing. He holds it up to me and says, “Look mommy, it a penis!” Oh my. I almost fell over I was laughing so hard. I had to compose myself and look at him and tell him that we do not make penises out of cookie dough. He said ok and moved on. Not two minuets later, he goes, “Look mommy, it a another penis. And it’s big!” I almost died laughing. Once again I tell him that we do NOT make penises out of cookie dough. So I was a little grateful with what happened next.
Adin: “Look mommy, what’s this?”
Me: “I don’t know. What is it?”
Adin: “It a elephant!”
Me: “Oooh, that’s cool. What a nice elephant.”
Adin: “Yes, it a elephant. ‘Cuz we don’t make penises out of cookies mommy. It just not right. Silly mommy.”
The good thing is he seemed to have gotten it through his little head that we do not make body parts out of food. Because last night when he was helping me make tortillas, he once again reiterated to me that we don’t make penises because, “It just not right silly mommy.” Silly me, what was I thinking?