Erik was working late one night, so while I grilled up some bratwurst outside, I told they boys they could come out in their rain boots and play in the puddles.  Which was apparently very loosely interpreted to mean, "Come out in your rain boots, but then take them off, and don't forget to get nakey, too!"

A few evenings ago, the boys were playing nicely upstairs while Erik and I were down here.  After a while, I heard them laughing.  Both of them.  Hysterically.  Seriously, one of the best sounds ever.  But still worth some investigating.  This is how I found them . . . both boys playing dress up in their Daddy’s clothes.

Last night, pretty much the same story.  But this time when I came up to see what the giggling was about, Sam hid his face from me.  He knew this one wasn’t quite as harmless as Dad’s clothes.  So I saw Owen’s makeover first.  Sam confessed to being the makeup artist for both himself and little brother.

They think they’re so funny.

Because this is what can happen when Mom falters for but a moment . . .

. . . the entire toy closet on the floor, and a snotty sandy little Hitler mustache.  For today.

I remember my sweet baby Owen.  My calm chill cautious mild snuggle on Mommy’s lap baby Owen.  That baby was slowly disappearing the last couple months, but now I just can’t find him anywhere.  He’s been replaced by an adventurous mischievious get into everything how much can I get away with moody little boy.

Owen might have had a very proficient teacher in the art of trouble making.  Really, he didn’t stand a chance with Samuel as his big brother.

Oh this 3 year old of mine!  Boy, how he and I butt heads.  He is probably my biggest trial right now.  Besides telling me “NO!” 672 times a day (most often while stomping his foot and shaking his fist at me) he tells me to “Move it” “Get out of my way” “Stop that” “I can’t” “Freakin’” and my favorite, “No, YOU [insert whatever I just told him to do].”  I am still trying to figure out the most (or even AN) effective way to deal with all of Samuel’s SASS!!!   

A few cases in point.

The other morning we were heading outside for a bike ride and walk.  I remembered I needed to grab something from upstairs, so I told Sam to hang on for just a sec.  He stood by the door and shouted, “No!  We are going outside right now!  Five . . . four, three, two, one.  That’s it, you’re on time out.”

Driving home from a doctor’s appointment in Provo, Samuel was looking out the window.  We had the following coversation.  “Mom, I see a big X on the mountain.”  “You know, that’s actually the letter Y, but I see it, too, and that was smart to notice it’s a letter.”  “That’s very naughty, Mom, you have to go on a time out.”  “What?  What’s naughty?”  “That’s very naughty you put that big Y up there, you should not do that.  Now you have to go on time out and sit on the naughty stool and I turn on the timer until you’re really really finished.”  “Samuel, it’s not naughty that the Y is there, and besides, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”  “Well you tell Daddy not to color with his crayons on the mountain.  It’s very naughty.”

And today, after 5 hours of being away from home playing and shopping and eating, we pulled into the garage.  Samuel was begging to go play in the backyard.  I explained that we needed to go inside and feed Owen, and go to the bathroom, and rest.  Sam got more and more worked up because he wanted to play outside, and I wouldn’t give in.  Clearly he’d had enough of the argument, and knew exactly how to end it in his favor as he shouted at me, ”You don’t get to tell me NO!” 

Oh boy oh boy oh boy.  Yes, the sass is bad, but even worse is the fact that every sassy thing he says, he heard it from me first.  Lesson learned . . . or at least, learning.

Samuel {always} enjoys getting himself dressed and undressed.

{Usually} he knows what he’s doing.

But {sometimes} he still gets a bit confused.

We {always} laugh.

And {usually} I have to step in to help.

But {sometimes} I just don’t care.  It builds character, right?

I’m just {always} left wondering if this is the kind of character I want my child to build.

Yesterday I made the mistake of telling Sam we would go see some lizards for family night. Sam didn’t want to wait, so he grabbed his shoes and headed for the door. “Ok, let’s go see lizards.” I continued by explaining we couldn’t go until Daddy got home from work and we ate dinner. “Ok, time wake up Daddy.” And Sam knocked down the gate to go upstairs where he assumed Daddy must still be sleeping. I knew all the doors were locked up there, so I let him take off. A few minutes later I heard him coming back down and making a strange noise. What is that, I wondered.  Samuel came running up to me, not one bit phased that he was wrapped in yards of ribbon, “Hey Mommy, whatcha dooo-in’?”

And the only picture I took last night when Sam got to see lizards etc. at the Monte L Bean . . . reminiscent of our last visit. Sam didn’t seem to mind being fed to the lion nearly as much back then.

Not when you’ve got this little monster running around.

If you think these things happen while I’m chatting it up on the phone or watching soap operas, you are so wrong, my dear.  These things happen in the 23 seconds it takes to wipe up the juice he just dumped on the floor, or in the 17 seconds it takes to grab a diaper.  Seriously.

Samuel has definitely figured out doorknobs.

So here’s what happened on Friday.  Samuel and I spent the morning running a couple errands and visiting teaching, so when we got home, he was anxious to play.  He had been a good sport all morning so I gave him free reign of the backyard and driveway.  No surprise, when it was time to go back inside Sam was soaking wet, covered in mud and sand.  So I stripped him down and ran upstairs to get some clothes for him while he chilled with George.  In the short time it took me to get back, this is how I found Sam.

Yeah.  He definitely is completely nakie.  Yep.  That’s my make-up bag in his lap.  Nope.  It’s never downstairs except for the one day I put my face on as Sam ate his breakfast.  Oh yes.  That’s the entire contents of my jar of foundation in Sam’s hair.

Into the bath!  After three shampoos and holding his head under the faucet, we had no success at all.  Time for the Mommy Network.  Can I tell you how lucky I am to know such amazing mommies who, even if they haven’t gone through this same thing, have most certainly gone through something similar and would be more than happy to help me solve this one.  First up was Triana, so I tried baby powder.  Next up was Becky, so I tried Dawn detergent.  Tori suggested cold cream or makeup remover.  Before I could call Rebecca who was next on the list, Becky had already enlisted her help and was calling me back with what the two of them had brainstormed and found on Google.  So after trying everything the Mommy Network could come up with, Sam still looked like this.

I’m glad Samuel loves his hats!!  Because he wore one the rest of the day.  By then the foundation mostly dried up and rubbed off in his hat, and sleep seemed to be the cure-all, rubbing what was left in Sam’s hair all over the sheets.  I never did get around to trying the shaving cream mixed with rubbing alcohol, but at least I’ll be prepared with that for our next adventure!