Four is not a discreet age

A and I had a conversation recently. He said, "L has such pretty hair that I think he should be a girl."

And I explained that yes, L had pretty hair, but that no, it didn't work that way. L was a boy and he would remain a boy. "But we can make him a girl," A said so I explained that L had a penis just like A did, that boys were boys because they had penises, and that L was going to continue to have a penis and be a boy just like A.

Of course, per Chekhov, you don't put a gun on the mantel in Act 1 without it being fired in Act 3.

So I picked A up from school yesterday and the aide stopped me. "Your boy is so funny." Apparently, there had been some gender divisions on the playground, where the boys were going to do some things without the girls and there was some discussion as to who qualified. Never fear, A was there.

"Listen everybody," he announced. "Wait and listen to me. Boys are boys because they have penises, and girls are girls because they do not have penises. So the boys have the penises." The aide apparently whooshed them all inside without further discussion--or gender verification--but she wanted to know where he'd come up with that bit of information.

The baby got into the cat food

Yep, that day has come. I always think 8-9 months of age is about the apex of babydom, and then the tumble to toddlerhood takes on speed.

My baby can now pull himself up. He usually doesn't get as far as his feet, although he has, but this means several things:

• The crib is no longer exactly safe and the mattress needs to be lowered.
• All the outlets are now fair play for tiny little fingers. This means things that had been placed on outlets (like the CO2 detector and the open-garage-door monitor) are now completely in play. The CO2 detector sounds an annoying and ear-splitting screech when it's mostly disconnected from the wall.
  
• The cat food, which had been out of reach on a box, is now well within reach. I think a file cabinet would put it out of reach but that might be at the max of my heavy lifting abilities.
• The computer power button is within reach.
  
• Items on the couch, chairs, and A's bed are all fair game.

Of course this happens while C is in the middle of mandatory overtime, so certain triage messages will be put into place until then. Triage is the mode of the day, especially since I haven't been able to get both boys to nap or sleep at the same time during the day consistently.

If you've got tips, I'd love to hear them, because if I don't get some time to myself soon, I'm going to lose it. All our babysitters are waylaid by illness or jobs, or I'd be calling out the cavalry for a movie and a junk-food binge, trust me.

"Mommy, I am not ruding you!"

Another month, another entry. Little L just rolled 9 months, thus starting his period of being out longer than he was in. He's quite the little character. He's such an amazingly good-natured baby, but I think he's going to be the mischievous one. He just has that glint in his eye sometimes. No real signs of separation anxiety yet, but he has gotten to the ever-annoying "drop things to see if they fall" stage.

A is back in preschool, same teacher as last year. I've been told that all the boys chase the girls at recess, "except A, because he is sweet." That he is.

At lunch today, we rearranged our chairs on the patio so everyone was out of the sun (ah yes, California, where all meals are eaten on the patio every day in our gorgeous, gorgeous weather). A had his feet up on my chair and I asked him to move them since we sit upright to eat our meals.

Then he started laughing. I looked down and he'd put his feet under my seat.

"I'm sticking my big toes out at you, Mommy!" he said. Indeed, he was. "I am not ruding you, Mommy; I am just silly." Somehow, rude has become a verb in this house.