I called Mike this afternoon to inform him that our children are driving me to insanity. He asked if I was taking them with me. Yes, it’s very probably that we are driving each other totally nuts!

Matthew has become proficient in the art of back-talking, baby-talking, lying and aggressive behavior(ing). When I asked him after a time-out yesterday what he’d done to put him there he proceeded to list an entire litany of all his wrong-doings. Oh, he knows when he’s making a bad chance…and he’s almost proud of it! When I asked him why he had done these things he seriously informed me, “’cuz the bad guys in my head think it’s funny.” Great. I told him to ignore the bad guys in his head and try to just listen to the good ones.

He definitely has his really good moments. The other day after bath he was naked (that’s what happens when you bathe, you see) and we were brushing his teeth before getting into jammies. He asked me if I’d ever seen a naked pirate before? “Noooo,” I hesitantly responded. He proceeded to put his drinking cup over his hand (like a hook), squinted his eye (for a patch), and said “Arrrr, matey!” Pretty funny.

Zachary is quite the character too, these days. He’s a walking fool now – moving everywhere with rapid toddler speed. He’s great at baby sign language. So far he knows please, help, more, thank you, milk and water. He blows kisses like you wouldn’t believe, cuddles on command and waves hello and goodbye with unequalled enthusiasm.
Zachary has a bit of a cold (as do the rest of us Martins). He’s been waking up in the middle of the night begging for sympathy for his snot-and-phlegm-induced-distress. Mike or I will eventually stumble into his room, where we’re greeted with Blankie being shoved in our face (the ultimate show of cuddliness) followed by little outstretched arms. We plop with Zachary and Blankie into the chair where he’ll often snuggle down for a good cuddle. Occasionally, our book-loving-boy – despite it being 4am and pitch black in his room – will scurry off my lap in lightning speed to the book shelf where he begins grabbing board books and handing them to me in rapid succession. Upon realizing that I have no intention of reading him books, he starts to get a little ticked. I’m usually able to settle him back down until he realizes that I do have every intention of placing him back into his crib (aka: baby jail). Then, what follows is not a scream, nor a sob, nor lengthy crying. Nay, my friends it is a combination of all three PLUS the added yells and shouts of BABY PROFANITY. I can’t begin to type here precisely the profane curses directed our way (primarily because I don’t know how to spell them but also because I’m sure that they’re completely inappropriate and not for a PG-13 crowd).