Originally posted on November 22, 2011:  This is another one of my posts that didn’t survive the trip over from blogger so I am reposting for your viewing pleasure.  These are oh-so-accurate pictures of my turkeys.

Wait!  Before you leave, this post, regardless of what the title implies, is NOT about Thanksgiving!  It may or may not be clear to you yet, but I have a tendency to call my children “the turkeys.”  Why, you ask?  You know, I am not really quite sure.  

Maybe it is because they, from time to time, act like wild animals? 

Maybe because to call my children turkeys is much nicer than some of the other words that pop into my head on occasion, especially when they are systematically destroying my house or tearing down the aisles at the grocery.

Nonetheless, I figured I may as well give you all a break from my ramblings about the kids and life and give you some pictures.  Because, let’s face it, you probably want to see pictures of the children more than you want to read what I have to say.  

It’s okay, I can handle it.  They are pretty stinking cute.  

This means that I actually have to take out my camera and take pictures, then, huh?  Ugh…I really do not like taking pictures.  I like even less loading them onto the computer and trying to find ones that are somewhat acceptable.  But, I will do it, just for you.  Because I am willing to sacrifice for the greater good.  

Please don't worry about the appearance of the head injury. He bonked his head and then insisted upon a "bandage". He kept it there all day.

I tried to get a little fancy with this one and then I couldn't figure out how to get the original back. See, I suck at pictures.

This is Logan's perfect smile. The one I can never seem to capture on film. Well, almost never.

On the way up!

Hayden: "Help Mommy!" Me: "Hang on honey. Let me get this picture."

See, even at the park, they try to get away from me and as close as possible to danger. Even at the park.

Their favorite game: Chase

The guaranteed end result. Every. Single. Time.

Okay, so I guess taking pictures isn’t ALL that bad after all.

My boys are all BOY.  Both of them.  There is absolutely no doubt about that one.  Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of listening to them make fake “tooting” noises and giggle hysterically whilst they were supposed to be falling asleep in their bedroom.  Yes, we say toot in my house.   I despise the word, “fart.”  And I am definitely not a fan of the word, “poot.”  So toot it was.  I’m sure all of those words just created some weird kind of haiku, but whatever.

“Mommeeee!  Hayden’s tooting!”  Cackle, cackle.  Giggle, giggle.

“Mommeeee!  Logan’s tooting!”  Cackle, cackle.  Giggle, giggle.

This went on for well over 20 minutes, while I sat here, at my laptop, shaking my head, wondering if girls did the same shit.  Finally, the energy they expelled while making their fake toot noises exhausted them so much that they fell asleep.  Pretty much mid toot.

The thing is, I have no idea where they come up with the idea to do this.  I certainly do not blow raspberries on my arm and then screech, “Toot!”  Neither does my husb— well, I guess one never knows what the husband does when the madre is not around.  However, the children have apparently mastered this long lost art and enjoy making a symphony of sorts during naptime.

Yep, one proud madre here.

I have another proud madre moment I ‘d like to chat about.  Here’s a quote from one of my favorite movies.  Ever.

“You know about cars.  Where did that come from?”

“Road and track.  The boys back home I grew up with, they were really into American heavy metal:  Mustangs, Corvettes.  They bought ‘em cheap and fixed ‘em up.  I paid attention.  So how is it you know so little about cars?”

American heavy metal. Bonus points to whomever can name that movie.  I always think about that quote whenever my turkeys talk about their cars.  I would also include Camaros in with that little grouping.  My children are obsessed with cars, as are most toddler boys.  But how many boys can correctly identify 8 different types of cars.  Uh, hum.  I tell you as a woman, this is impressive stuff.  My 3 1/2 year old little turkeys can identify Mustangs, Corvettes, Camaros, Chargers, Challengers, Chrysler 300s, Jeeps and Grand Prix’s.  They know both styles of Mustangs, the old early 90′s body style and current body style.  They also recognize numerous body styles of the Corvette and Camaro.  My husband and father think this is some spectacular stuff.  Me, I’m worried more about the pronunciation.

Consequently, when we head out of the house, not only are they instructing me how to drive and where to go, I also get a running commentary on every single one of the above mentioned cars we see on the road, generally in a uber surprised screech-y type of voice.  I get the color of vehicle, the color of the tires, and whether or not it is going too fast or too slow.  Often I am ordered to “catch up to that car Mommy.” But if I go too fast, then I am promptly reminded of our recent accident.  ”No car crash mommy.  No break car please.”

We have two Mustangs that are generally parked right inside one of the entrances to our development, a white one and a gray one.  I am now required to exit my development only one way, no matter if it is in the complete opposite direction that I need to go.  And, if one or both of the cars has the nerve to not be present in its normal parking spot?

Oh, hell.

It has gotten better, though.  Now, if they aren’t there, I just tell the boys that the cars had to go to work, just like daddy.  They seem to buy that one.  Sometimes.  Whew, dodged a bullet right there.

We are still working on other cars.  For example, when they see any 4 door BMW 3 or 5 series, they call it “Mommy’s old car” which is, of course in reference to the 2005 Hyundai Sonata I drove while my van was in the body shop.  I find it hilarious that they equate Hyundais with BMWs.  My husband?  Not so much.  They other good one is the Porsche.  We saw a little mini convertible today and the boys freaked out screaming, “Mommy, mommy!  Look, a Porsche!”  So like a good mother, I glanced over and what did I see?  An old school Mazda Miata circa 1995.

Clearly, we have a little work to do.  But overall?  I am one proud madre.

One of the things I loved about this trip was being able to actually talk to my turkeys on the phone.  Last year, when I went to Des Moines, they really weren’t speaking well so I didn’t even try to get them on the phone. Last year, they were also much more attached to me, so the separation was a little more of an issue as well.

This year, as many of you know from my facebook updates, as I left my little turkeys said, “Bye Mom!  Have fun in Vegas!”  It broke my heart just a teeny bit for them to send me off with nary a whimper.  But at the same time, I was very pleased because the last thing I wanted to worry about was them missing me too much.

They had a great time with daddy.  Had McDonald’s twice (that he is admitting to), probably watched non-mommy approved shows on television, and maybe bathed once.  It was great “man” time for all of them.  I wish they had been feeling better so they could have gone to the park a couple of times.

I missed them a ton in the 3 days I was gone, especially when I heard their little voices on the phone.  David put us on speaker every time I called and it was so sweet to hear the happiness in their voices when they heard mine and to hear the ever present screeching, “Mommeeeeeeee.”

One evening as we were venturing out I came a man dressed in none other than a Bumblebee costume a la Transformers.  I freaked out. Seriously, I think I was even jumping up and down while squealing. Bumblebee, likely, was a little scared of me and rightly so.  My kids LOVE Bumblebee.

“OMG Tracey!  Look at that!  It’s Bumblebee!  The boys would freak the eff out.  I have got to get a picture with him.  OMG!  They are going to LOVE this.  A picture of mommy and bumblebee.  Here.”  And I thrust my phone into her hands, scrounged around for a five spot to give to poor Bumblebee.  I stood next to him beaming while our picture was snapped and immediately texted it to David.  Seeing as though it was 1 am Arizona time I wasn’t expecting to hear from him that night.

The next morning I grab my phone and gleefully noticed the text message indicator.  I opened the message and this is what it said,

“So they said Bumblebee was too small and where is prime.”

W.T.F.

Ungrateful little turkeys.  When I saw Prime the next night, you better believe I did not waste another $5 on a picture with him.