with the little Chinese girl Sarah, in our play group.  Girlfriend is doing fractions and she ain't but 2 damn years old.  She was potty trained at 7 months old and started reading when she was 1!  Andrew is light years behind her and so I'm doing my best to catch up.

We will see Sarah and her mom again in the fall, so I wanted to make sure my baby had some new "tricks" up  his sleeve for our first day of class.

We've been working on "world leaders"... I went to the Office Depot and laminated photos of John McCain, George W. Bush, Condaleeza Rice, Barack Obama and others... all the important people he'll need to know, like Marion Berry, James Brown, Rick James, Michael McDonald from the Doobey Brothers--all the famous leaders that have changed the course of history!

So anyway, I got the photos pinned up all over the house and we go to them and point and I ask him "Andrew who is that?" and he tells me "That's George W. Bush!" and I ask him, "So who is George W. Bush?" and he tells me, "He's an asshole.  He's is president now."  Then I point to Obama and McCain's photos and ask "Who is running for president?" and Andrew tells me "Arack Obama and John Cain."  (close enough)

I'm thinking to myself, "Yeah baby, that little Sarah doesn't stand a chance when Andrew gets finished teaching her social studies, she's gonna regret the day she challenged my baby to a game of puzzles."

But I got greedy, I should have stopped there and worked to make sure he understood how to say Barack's name properly and put the "Mc" on McCain.  I put up Condaleeza Rice's photo and said "Andrew, that's Condaleeza Rice, the Secretary of State."  My two year old looked up at me as if to say "Now momma, you know that's too many damned syllables."  Since Andrew likes to sing, I figured we'd turn Secretary Rice's name into a song! And that was perfect--I pointed to the picture and sang "Con-da-leeezaaa Riceeeeeeeeeeee" with a squeal on the end.  He ate it up--he walked around all afternoon singing "Con-da-leeezaaa Riceeeeeee".   He was so excited about his new song that he pointed to George W. Bush and yelled "Con-da-leeezaaa Riceeeeeee".  He knew it was wrong and we both busted out laughing!!

Later that day, I was cooking dinner, some smothered pork chops and stewed okra in tomato sauce.  Andrew loves gravy--you can put gravy  on pancakes and he'll eat it.  The boy loves good southern cooking--and he ain't but two years old. He's got exacting standards when it comes to his taste buds. And don't give him no jar gravy--cause he'll give it back to you--in the form of throwing that $hit across the floor until you cook him some home made gravy on the stove.

So I fix everybody's plate and we sit down to eat, we hold hands and bless the food. Now, I hadn't shown Shawn Andrew's new trick and all the famous people he's learned to identify.  I wait until we're all chowing down on those smothered pork chops and I whisper to Shawn "Ask Andrew who the president is."  And he does, and my baby responds correctly.  Then I yell out "Hey, Andrew, who is the Secretary of State?"  I pushed my baby too far--he was eating smothered pork chops mixed with rice and trying to remember his world leaders and it all got tangled up when he responded, "Secretary of State is Rice and Gravy."

Shawn was getting ready to go to work one morning last week, and I had the television on Noggin, we were watching Wow Wow Wubzy!  A cute little cartoon that teaches kids not to lie and to be nice to each other!  I like to let Andrew watch it before we get our day started...

We don't do much television, probably about an hour or two a day at the MOST.  If I need to check e-mails or balance my check book--or iron clothes--or mop the floor--I'd turn the television on to let it baby sit my  little boy while I got some things done.

He like music and this Wow Wow Wubzy has the coolest theme song. I mean, hell, I'm 36 years old and I enjoy listening to it.  When it comes on we're usually dancing around and singing and clapping!  When Wow Wow Wubzy is on, I can go outside and walk to the store if I want to, make groceries, come back, and my son will still be in the same spot!

So anyway, back to my story, Andrew was watching Wow Wow Wubzy! and his daddy came downstairs after getting dressed for work and said "Alright son, dad is leaving now." Andrew treated him like he was invisible. The two year old's eyes were glazed over looking at that 52 inch flat screen filled with cute little cuddly cartoon characters!

Shawn kept calling his name, "Andrew, Andrew, ANDREW!!!!" 

Andrew turned to him, smiled and said, "Dad, Wow Wow Wubzy!" (as if to say "Hey dad, can't you see my show is on?").

My husband hit the roof, "Sheletta!  No more television. Weekends only.  The TV remains OFF during the day and until Andrew goes to bed at night."

I was cool with it at first, but damnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, momma needs a break. Now, mind you, I ain't trying to let the television baby sit him like my grandmomma did me when I was a little girl.  I ain't gonna sit up and let him watch Young and the Restless or The Love Boat, but er're now and again, I'd like to run and check e-mails or pee with the door closed or pull a load of clothing out of the dryer!  Wow Wow Wubzy! helped me do that without a two year old nipping at my heels and ankles and a$$!  Wow Wow Wubzy! gave me 30 whole minutes of freedom so that I could get a few things done.  And while that damn cartoon was on, I moved in super human Matrix speed! I'd be cleaning three bathrooms, dusting and washing dishes while that damn show was on, with two or three minutes to spare. 

But now, Wow Wow Wubzy! ain't there to save me. My husband, the breadwinner and the man who pays the mortgage and the light bill has declared that we ain't watching television NO MOE! 

I tried cheating, I really did, but my little talkative son snitched on me and told his dad what happened.  I was trying to make the bed up in the spare room, so I let him watch a few minutes of cartoons so he would stop pulling the damn sheets off and making me start over again.  Childddddddddddddddd, I went ahead and turned on my best friend, Wow Wow Wubzy! and sat Andrew down in front of that television. He didn't move--and I was able to finish my chores.

I thought my secret was safe, until my beloved husband walked through the door and asked "Andrew, what'd you do today son?" And Andrew responded, "Dad, I watch cantoons (that's how he says it, no "r")! Wow Wow Wubzy!" 

I tried to pinch him and I whispered in his ear, "Andrew, you're a snitch!"

My son blurts out "Dad, mom says I'm a snitch!"

Needless to say, when Shawn leaves for work in the morning, the remote goes with him, along with the cable box!

Andrew is crawling! Well, he's scooting--backwards actually!  I swear--I put that little chubby checker down on the floor in the living room and I placed toys a few inches in front of him!  By the time he finished scooting around--he was at least six feet away from the toys and clearly frustrated.  He's a "colored" child too--cause when he realized that he couldn't get to the noise makers--he rolled over, put his pacifiers in his mouth and took him a nap.

I was talking to another mom and she said "Oh, you should start child proofing your home--crawl around and see what potential trouble spots you have--and get to it right away."

I told her that my momma ain't never child proof our house when I was younger. She ain't do it for my brother and none of her other grandchildren--so I ain't child proofing mine.

My momma has always lived by the philosophy that if you do something once and you get hurt--you won't do it again.

Case in point--I clearly remember when I was 4 years old. I was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch one day--when my cousin MeMe thought it would be a good idea if I took the knife and stuck it in an electrical socket.  So dumb me--my nose hairs get singed--my finger tips get fried and I got smoke coming out of my ears!  MeMe thought that was the funniest thing she'd ever seen! 

I was in shock--I thought I was going to die. The four years I had lived on the earth flashed before my eyes!  I ran into my momma's room crying and screaming... looking for sympathy and possibly medical attention. My momma's response? "Well, I guess you won't be doing that again!"

And she was right--hell, I don't even eat peanut butter and jelly cause I'm scared I'll get shocked!

When I was probably about 6, I was in the kitchen--with that crazy a$$ MeMe again--when she suggested that I boil some sausages--cause she was hungry.  Perfect--cause there is nothing I love more than a boiled sausage sandwich with some katsup on it!  Child... I pulled up a foot stool--OK, we was in the projects--so I was standing on a stack of phone books--anyhoo, the "stool" slipped, the hot water went flying one way, the sausage went another way and I went another way!  My foot was scarred with boiling water--I tried picking up the sausage and it burned my hand--the kitchen was a mess and I knew momma was gonna beat me like I stole Big Momma's broach out of her jewelry box.

My momma got home from work and spotted that mess--MeMe sitting there putting butter on my burns--and she grabbed me by the collar on my terry cloth short-set and beat me so bad--I don't remember what happened for the next 48-hours.  Cause I blacked out or blocked it out--cause I ain't wanna remember the pain...

So anyhoo--Mr. Andrew--is on his on--and just like his momma--he's gonna find out the hard way and self-child-proof the house on his own.  When he crawls over to the ironing board and tries to go Penny from "Good Times"--and reaches out to touch the iron--and burns off his fingerprints--I guarantee he won't do it again!

Each week I attend a baby class through the Early Family Childhood Education Program.  It's a wonderful program that helps me learn about different mothering techniques and ways to deal with Andrew. 

I love the class--it's a chance to meet with other moms who have small kids--and we share and compare baby stories--and it has been a tremendous blessing to my life.  It has helped me to be a better mother. I mean if I'm having a problem with Andrew, I can talk to these ladies and they have experienced the same things--so they have different ways of dealing with things that I never thought of.

Like last week, we were talking about teething--and one of the gals in the class told me about frozen pacifiers--she puts juice in her baby's nippy and freezes it--when the little darling starts going through a "teething fit" mommy pops that little sucker out of the freezer and plugs her mouth--and the crying stops!

Sure enough, when I tried it with my Andrew--it worked like a charm.

But then again, there are some fundamental differences that just ain't working out for us. We just ain't gonna see eye to eye on some things.  Could be the way I was raised--and the fact that I'm the only black chick in the class.

A few months back--we were talking about ways to discipline and curb bad behavior.  There were 8 things moms can do to get better results from their kids--welllll, I searched the list high and low and didn't see anything on spankin'!  I promptly raised my hand and said "Umh excuse me... where is spanking on this list? I plan to beat him as soon as he's old enough to take a lick!" Those moms and that teacher looked at me like I had blood gushing from my eyeballs. 

The teacher tried to be diplomatic and said "Well, we don't promote physical abuse!"

I was like "Oh, I ain't gonna make him bleed or anything--don't plan on tearing off no skin like my momma did me--but I do plan on helping him to understand that I am the parent and he is the child!"

The next thing I know--there was a case worker waiting after class to "talk" to me.

One other time, we were talking about things that stimulate the baby's brain waves.  A mom in the class told us about how classical music helps her son understand language better.  The teacher started spouting off how classical music has been proven to make babies smarter.

They did the wrong thing... they went around the circle and started asking us what classical music we let our kids listen to.  When it came time for me to speak, I said proudly: "Oh, my Andrew listens to all the classical music, Earth Wind & Fire, Stevie Wonder, The Ohio Players... he really likes that old R Kelley--you know, back when he was with the Public Announcement."

Them girls all took a deep breath at one time. They couldn't believe I was serious.  And sure enough--after class, the same damn case worker wanted to have a "conference" with me and Andrew. Only this time, we had a file!

A young woman who says she was raped once is among the jurors who will sit on R. Kelly's child pornography trial. Jury selection at the case in Chicago is now complete, with all 16 members of the panel in place -- 12 jurors and four alternates. And now that the jury has been chosen an argument has broken out between the two sides over the racial makeup of the panel. One of R. Kelly's attorneys says the prosecution has been using its challenges to exclude blacks while prosecutors told the judge the defense used all six of their preemptory strikes against whites who were potential members of the jury. The R&B superstar is accused of videotaping himself having sex with a girl as young as 13 years old. Opening arguments are set for next week.

Jermaine Jackson wrote a country music ballad and performed it wearing jeans that had his first name embroidered across the groin. He's competing on the second season of "Gone Country," and the episodes are being filmed now in Nashville, Tennessee. People.com says Jackson's song was called "Loving You Is the Natural Thing to Do." It was inspired by his fourth wife. The series begins in August. 

Charles Barkley is promising to pay a $400,000 gambling debt that he owes to a Las Vegas Strip casino. When he found out that prosecutors planned to file criminal charges, he said, "My mistake. I'm not broke, and I'm going to take care of it." The casino filed a civil complaint Wednesday, saying "despite repeated demands, Barkley has refused to repay the $400,000." But Barkley insists no one called him before filing the complaint. He says "all they had to do is call and say, 'Hey, you owe us this money."' But even still, he's taking responsibility and says it's his fault for letting the time lapse. Barkley says the debt stems from a wager on the NFL's 2008 Super Bowl championship game.

Being in the media business since I got out of college, I've had some rough supervisors. I'm talking about guys, who were so mean and vicious, just the thought of 'em send a chill up your spine. 

Newsrooms are chaotic places driven by the talk of the day, the fear of the masses and the dictatorship of one: THE NEWS DIRECTOR!

The news director is in charge of everything that goes on the air during local newscasts.  That's the person the anchors and reporters and producers and photographers report to.  That's also the person who, if the ratings tank, gets their neck put on the chopping block! 

My first N.D.--was so mean and hateful that when I got home every night, I couldn't fall asleep because I could feel the bed spinning! I just never rested.  And this was a sister!  She kicked my butt every day--for breakfast, lunch and dinner!  If I suggested we go left, she went right--if I had a good news idea--she'd shoot it down.  She took great delight in calling me out during newsroom meetings.  Man, she was tougher than leather.

And I thought when she quit, I'd get some relief--but the next guy they hired made her look like Cinderella's fairy god-mother.  This dude was about 6' 10" tall and reminded me of Herman The Munster!  He would stand toe-to-toe with reporters and anchors and just cuss 'em out like they were having a bar fight or something.  At one point, on one day, five people quit working!  They just couldn't take this dictator!  I saw him, with my own eyes, get so upset, that he punched a hole in the wall.  Now he, he was scarier than Freddie Kruger!

I could go on and on, but not one of my bosses--not one of 'em--can hold a candle to my new supervisor: 22 month old Andrew! 

Being a stay-at-home mom, I work for my son and he is literally kicking my butt on a daily basis!  At least when I worked for the tyrants in the newsroom, I had the union to protect me. Now, I'm out there on my own, and with no union rep to back me up.

Andrew has eliminated my 15 minute breaks!  They're all but gone!  I don't get a break to run and get lunch--I have to starve until I get off the clock. And speaking of clock--I'm on it from 5:30 a.m. when he wakes up until 8:30 at night when he goes down to sleep! I get no restroom breaks--so I'm taking bladder control medication.  I don't get any personal e-mail or computer time--not even if it's work related and I'm trying to figure out what this rash is on his neck!  That's forbidden in my new job as stay-at-home-mom.  Vacation and sick days are non existent.  I have to come to work sick at all times and when I go on vacation; he's there to supervise my every move!  Even when I get some Personal Time Off, I  must, under his mandate, be doing something exclusively for him.  I tell you what, Andrew is a BEAST!  He's the toughest and meanest boss I've ever encountered!

Even the guy who punched the hole in the wall wasn't this hard on me. I get yelled at every day, for one reason or another.  Nothing I do anymore is ever good enough and I don't know the last time I was given a yearly evaluation.  I guess he doesn't want to do one for fear that I'll ask for a raise. And speaking of raises, all this work is pro-bono.  I'm not getting paid...

I thought about quitting, so I got a lawyer---but he said I'm stuck--can't go anywhere--can't get out of the contract that I signed way back on July 31, 2006 when Andrew was born.  I was screaming and in so much pain I don't remember reading the fine print...

Let me just say I know "high" when I see high!  I'm no weed head, well back in college I dabbled a little bit in the self-made cigarettes--but I wasn't a regular like some of my friends who kept a stash under their college dorm room beds. I never even bought the stuff, when I wanted some, I just went over the friend's house who was always high, waited for her to light up (she knowssssssssss who she is, I would say her name but she reads the blog every day and so do her co-workers, I don't want her to get drug tested).  She was always so kind and sharing--never made me pitch in on the stinky stuff!

But you can tell when folks are high, cause they look high, they smell high and they act high.  Marijuana makes folks move like they are going in slow motion.  Words are slurred and movement is slower than normal!  You ain't gotta smell it, you can see it!  High is as evident as skin color!

And it ain't just people, you can tell when animals are doped up too...

Since it hit a record 40 degrees the other day (that's springtime in Minnesota) Andrew and I ventured outside and visited the Como Park Zoo!  It's free, so you know that's right up my alley!

Andrew was excited because he loves animals, he reads about them in his books and he knows all his animal sounds... so to see them live and in living color... that was a real treat for him.  And I was excited too cause I wanted to see his reaction to the lions and tigers and bears (Oh my!).

We walked through the doors and I couldn't hear anything. It was like we had walked in a Buddhist temple and the monks were taking a vow of silence.  None of the animals were growling and few of them were even trying to move around in their cages.

Andrew saw them and got excited... "Mommy, lion... roarrrrrrrrr!" is what he yelled out when he wanted to go near the lion's den.  We walked over there and the lion was laying under the tree looking all sad and pitiful.  Andrew was yelling at the lion, making sounds, pointing--trying to get the fury dude's attention--but nothing doing.  The lion just sat there looking at Andrew with a blank look on his face.  I thought, "Man, his eyes are glazed over and he's lifeless, I've seen that somewhere before..."

But I just chalked it up as the lion being sleepy. Next, we went over to see the cheetahs.  Now y'all know cheetahs are known for running--the fastest animal in the wild--is what the sign said over their caged area.  When we looked over at them, they looked like the senior citizen cheetahs--they were moving slower than an old lady on a scooter!  They weren't running, hell as slow as they were moving, I don't even think it qualified as walking.  And when I looked at 'em, they had the same damn look as the lions--all subdued, glazed eyes, unaware of their surroundings!

Surely, the horses were galloping around.  We went there and the damn things were asleep, eyes wide open. One of 'em was even snoring.

Left that area, went to see the monkeys, none of 'em were swinging on the trees.  They were laid out man, playing with their feet, eating bananas!

The polar bears were so sweet, I let Andrew crawl in the cage with them and pet them on the back.  It was like the "lights are on but nobody's home"!  Andrew took one look at the bear, pointed to him, and told me, "Mommy, bear is sleepy."

That's much different when I was a little girl and we went to the zoo. It didn't just smell like a zoo, it sounded like one too!  Animals were growing and screaming and making all kinds of noises! The bears were vicious man.  They'd come right up to you and growl and try to bite your hand off.  Trainers were right there and had to pull 'em back. Monkeys were climbing the trees and swinging from limb to limb.  Giraffes were galloping--hell, even the alligators were swimming around--peeking over the top of the creek with those huge eyeballs!  The fish were swimming and the frogs were hopping around!

Just then it hit me, I figured out what was going on.  The animals are all doped up!  I'm talking more prescription pills than Marilyn Manson and Marilyn Monroe put together. 

I guess those vets got tired of getting their legs and arms eaten off.  They all got together and said "Look, let's get these damn tigers some weed and a few pills--some good ecstasy--and we can all go home at the end of the day with our arms and legs in tact." 

I don't blame 'em, hell, just last week, this guy was killed by a bear in California.  They don't call "wild" animals "wild" for nothing. 

I figure either we went to the zoo at nap time, or those were the laziest bunch of wild animals I've ever seen in my life...

Lawd have mercy, my husband is surely going to start beating me!  He's warned me over and over again "Honey, watch your language!  Don't cuss or say bad words in front of Andrew--he's picking up everything you say!  He's absorbing it like a sponge."

I always just brush him off like "Yeah, yeah!  I got this. I'm his momma. I know how to train him right.  I'm reading my mothering books and remembering how my aunties taught me... so I definitely know what to do and what not to do."

When I was about seven, my aunt Mary Joe had taught me all the cuss words and by the time I was 9, my aunt Darnitha would let me light her cigarettes on the stove in the kitchen!  And I'd better not get them wet by puffing on it.

So I know I ain't wanna go that route--but old habits die hard. I still cuss a lot--I gotta catch myself!  And I use the word "ni$$er" like it's going out of style. 

I've cut back a lot--but sometimes--if I'm around the house talking on the phone to an old friend, I slip back into my former cussing life.  And Andrew is always RIGHT there to hear what I'm saying.

I was on the phone this week with somebody, I can't even remember who--and I was like "Oh no, that's bull$hit!" Child, I thought Andrew was in the playroom--but oh no, he was right there at my leg--and yelled out, in clear English "Bull$hit!"  I nearly died. All I could think was "Shawn is going to kill me!" 

I tried to tell him "No son, don't say that... bad word!"

He looked at me, smiled and said "Bull$hit!"

I wanna know why it takes me two days to teach him words like "table" and "chair", but "bull$hit" he picks up instantly?

We were running in the house the other day and I hit my bare foot on the table--and yelled out "Damn!  That hurts!"  Of course, my son said "Mommy, that damn hurts!"

I was too shame!  I called Shawn at work and broke the news to him--that his wife is ghetto--is trying--but can't stop cussing completely and is negatively influencing his child.  He informed me that he had another woman on standby who wanted to be his wife and Andrew's momma--and he was giving me a two week notice that he's phasing me out of my position as stay at home mom.

We agreed, any time I cuss or say a bad word--I gotta put a $1 in a "cuss jar" that we put in the kitchen.  Needless to say, we got two of 'em--and they are both filled to capacity!  Between this past week when crazy a$$ co workers were acting a fool and crazy a$$ bosses were acting an even bigger fool, I did a lot of cussing and fussing!

Since the $1s were actually coming out of Shawn's pocket--he decided I wasn't learning my lesson.  So every time he hears me cuss or say "ni$$er"--he gets to punch me in the arm.  I got a low tolerance for pain, so I'm doing much better on the cussin'--but the word ni$$er is another story.  Do I say the word outside the house? NOOOOOOOOOO! Cause I don't want white folks like Dog the Bounty Hunter and Don Imus to think it's cool. Do I say it in casual conversation with my cousin Demond in New Orleans when we chat on the phone YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! 

And of course, Andrew is right there--listening to every word and learning er'rething he ain't posed to pick up on.

So the other day, Shawn and Andrew were reading the animal book and Andrew was sitting in his lap--while Shawn turned the pages and made all the sounds--it was so cute.  I wanted to give them their "daddy/son" time so I went to the kitchen to get ready for dinner.  I was in there 'bout 4 minutes when Shawn yelled out "Sheletta, come here now!"  And I mean he yelled. And he never calls me "Sheletta".  He calls me "honey" or "baby"--so when he called me by my slave name, I knew I was in trouble.

I tipped in the room and Andrew was looking at me like "Mommy, you're in trouble!"

Shawn asked me "What is he saying?"

I was like "I don't hear him saying anything!"

Shawn looked at Andrew and told him "Say it son."

Andrew grinned and said "Drigger."

My heart hit the floor. I tried to pretend I didn't understand what he was saying "I don't know honey--perhaps he's working on an animal sound!"

"No, he is saying ni$$er!  Did you say ni$$er around him?"

"I'm not sure," I tried to shuffle around the question, "I don't think so. I might have slipped up!"

Shawn knows I can't lie, so I just went ahead and told it on myself!

My husband didn't even bother to talk to me, "Hand me the phone." he demanded.

"Who are you calling?" I wanted to know.

"Andrew's social worker," he informed me, "I'm turning you in!"

I really don't wanna take Andrew to the damn doctor's appointment today.  I'm really tired of this witch craft they are calling pediatric medicine these days!

It's obvious that the health care industry really doesn't want me to get my sick child well--otherwise they don't make any money.  I'm still pissed off they took the infant cold medication off the shelves.  Now, instead of just getting my child well at home, I gotta take Andrew to the doctor's office every time his nose is stopped up so they can check him, tell me he has a cold--then bill me $300 for the damn visit!

And so that we don't wind up with a bunch of doctor's bills that we can't pay--we call the emergency pediatric phone line to try and get advice from these "so called" health care professionals about everything from why Andrew's poop is black to his soar throat.  The way it works is they've got this "trained pediatric expert" on the phone and you tell her what the problem is--it's usually a nurse who has been in the business for a long time--and she can give you a diagnosis over the phone.

But the problem is that these goofy heffas don't know their a$$es from a hole in the ground. I might as well call my senile old grandmother who can't remember her own name and ask her for her social security number.  'Cause the $hit these nurses tell you to do for your kids over the phone makes no sense.

Andrew was pooping all over the place, which led to a bad case of diaper rash.  So I called the emergency pediatric line to find out what they'd suggest we do to stop his little bottom from being so irritated.  This heffa tells me "Let him sleep without his pamper on--because he needs to air out!" 

I was floored.  "Do you know how much  my son pees at night?" I asked her, "And you expect me to let him lay in the bed soaking wet with urine all over the place!  And he sleeps so wild, he'd wake up with pee all over his face and body. I don't see how that's going to help clear up his diaper rash!"

"No, no." she informed me, "Just put a thick towel down on the baby bed and he can sleep on that."

I just hung up the phone in her face. I was so pissed off.  And who is supposed to clean all that up is what I wanna know?  My baby would have been pissy from head to toe fooling with this woman!

So I waited a few hours, changed our names and called back pretending to be someone else, hoping I'd get someone different.  I did--except this nurse was goofier than the first one I talked to.  She told me, "Well, Mrs. I would just allow little Andrew to run around for 10 or 20 minutes without a pamper and let his little bum air out.  That'll clear up some of the diaper rash."

"But," I tried explaining to her, "he's got the runs! And if I take his pamper off, he's gonna $hit all over my house!"

But, they are the professionals, right?  So I decided to listen to the cow and needless to say, I took that boy's pamper off, and 2 seconds later--I was cleaning up chocolate cake batter from the front door to the kitchen! 

When it was all said and done, I wound up throwing away a rug, two floor mats and an entire play pen.  And guess what? My son still had a diaper rash after being free from a pamper and $hitting all over my house!

 

Lawd have mercy!  Life was much simpler when Andrew couldn't walk or talk or crawl!  But now that he's on the move and flying around the house like Speedy Gonzales, I can hardly keep up.  I knew I should have had my kids when I was 16 years old like the rest of my friends--cause at 37, Andrew is kicking my a$$--and I mean that literally!

So the other day, he pee-peed in his pamper and he came to me and said "Mommy, pee-pee." And I thought "Well, it's time to get the boy potty trained!"

Well, y'all, that's easier said than done. We go to the store-get the potty that's cute with all the little gadgets and gizmos--it sings and wiggles--does everything except the moonwalk and robot--I mean this thing is off the hook. Hell it's so much fun I'm peeing in it when I need to go to the restroom.

And Andrew knows to say "potty"--he knows what it is he knows that when he sits on it naked from the waist down it's time to pee pee or boo boo! 

Wellllllllllllllllllllll...

The problem is we sit on the thing about 20 times a day and he only pees about three times a day. And sometimes, we sit there for five or ten minutes--he gets up and pees right on the damn floor next to the potty!

Either that or he waits for me to change his pull-up then he pees in my eyeball! Misses the glasses that are doubling as protective goggles at this point and hits me smack dab in the eyeball!

I need some advice that works--cause I'm getting conflicting reports on the best way to potty train this boy...

My momma says put him on the pot and leave him there--for hours until he does something!  Don't let him get up!  But I saw her training my little nephew Travis--that boy one day sat on the potty for two hours in front of the television--and when he got up--his little legs were so numb that he couldn't walk--he just fell to the ground (bless his heart, he had been sitting so long)!

My cousin MeMe trained her nephew Jonathon the same way--take the pot and put it all over the damn house--and make the kid sit there for hours on end until they drooped a load one way or the other in the baby-potty-bowl...

I just didn't like that--I figured when Andrew has to go he says potty--I take him in there--work with him--if he pees fine--if he doesn't we'll try next time.

And we keep the potty in the bathroom.  I just figured we don't want him thinking he can pee or poop anywhere in the house.

I remember my cousin LaChelle complaining years ago that her son Chad would hide in the living room behind the curtains and take a dump. I always told her "Well hell, what you expect? You put the potty in there and made him sit on it for three hours yesterday! Now he thinks the living room is the toxic waste spot!"

So y'all help me. Cause I'm confused as hell.  If you got kids and you potty trained them and you got some good advice--send it my way--if you know of something that worked well for some kid you know--pass that along to me!  I really need your help...

As a new momma,  you tend to compare your kid with other chil'len their ages.  That's how I know my little 21 pounder is a tad bit under weight. We are still in our 12 month clothes when the other kids his age are in their 18 month clothes. He's a little low on the growth chart--but I can't expect much on height and weight--his father, his father's brothers, his father's father and his father's father's father are all shrimps--shorter than normal.  Hell, Shawn sat on the first row of his class pictures until he was in 7th grade.  Cause he was always the "little kid" in his group.  And my Andrew is taking after his dad.

But he's smart as a whip though.  He can point to his nose and all his little body parts and say what they are.  He knows what sounds all the animals make.  Case in point--we were having chicken for dinner the other night and he wanted a piece of my fried yard bird (we baked his because we don't want him full of all that grease just yet)--so I broke him off a piece of a wing and handed it to him and said "Chicken.". My baby looked back at me, smiled and said "Bawk, bawk bawk."  He was clucking and everything. I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to explain to him that the cute little yellow fluffy chicken in his books has been plucked, cleaned, chopped up and fried--and is now on our dinner table!  I'm guessing he'll need a bit of therapy to be able to take it all in. 

So anyway, y'all know being a stay at home momma, I need a release--especially in the winter time--cause we can't go outside to the park to let him run around. It's too damn cold.  Nobody wants to swing and slide outside when it's minus 20 degrees with a wind chill factor of minus 35 degrees.  Hell, with my Texas warm blooded self, I ain't going out the house if it's 20 degrees!  So Andrew and I usually wind up standing at the window, looking outside saying "I'm gonna go out there one day."

That's why we look forward to our weekly Early Childhood Family Education classes. It's through the public school system and it's for stay at home moms. We meet once a week and learn new child development skills. For two hours, the kids get to have unrestricted play, we learn new songs, they have arts and crafts--it's loads of fun. We attend the one in Woodbury and our teacher, Mrs. Jean, is the same lady whose been with us since we joined the class when Andrew was 8 weeks old--so she knows us very well.

But any way, these weekly classes are a way for us to get out of the house and a way to wear Andrew out with play time so he can get tired and take a darn nap. Cause if I don't take him to play--he is going to want to play with me--and my back is tired from getting jumped on.  He thinks I'm a horse!  And just cause I'm big as one--don't mean I want him riding around on me all day.

Well, this week was our first week back in class after the Christmas break.  Thursday, we met all the new parents who are coming to the class and a few of the other parents from last semester who are continuing on with the program.  All of the kids can pretty much do the same things--cause the class is for babies between 18 months and 24 months. So everybody is walking--most of the kids can point to their noses if you say "nose" and their eyes if you say "eyes" and that kind of thing. The really smart kids know where their knees are and can point to their toes.  Er'rebody is still in pampers and my kid is the sharpest knife in the drawer cause he can say "poopy" when he has to do #2 and "pee-pee" when he wets himself.

But one of the new kids, Sarah who is from China--she's 20 months old. She blew everybody out of the damn water. I see why the Chinese are light years ahead of us in educating their children.  Cause girlfriend is sharp.  At 20 months--she can spell her name. I'm not freaking kidding--she spelled her name!  And she is potty trained. Her momma said she's been potty trained for months now!  She was doing arts and crafts--without any help and didn't spill a single ounce of paint on the floor! She makes full sentences and can hold a conversation like a grown a$$ woman!   I looked up and she was sitting at the table with a pencil in one hand and a calculator in the other converting fractions to decimals!

My son needs a tutor in order to keep up with little Sarah! I know why they actually do so much better on standardized tests now--they stat their kids early--and they know way more than our babies.  I was sitting there trying to brag cause Andrew is in pull-ups and I'm starting the potty training process--and here little Sarah is, the same age as my son--and she is reading Shakespeare. 

 

So people kept telling me that my Andrew was cute--and I agreed--but I ain't figure he was so adorable that anybody would stick his smiling face on the side of a box of Pampers!

Well they did--and he keeps getting work--Macy's, Target, JC Penny--the list goes on and on.

I'm so proud of him--but I know it's all a part of the plan God has for our family and for Andrew's life.  We pray over him every day for blessings, favor, riches and wealth, health and strength--and so far, God has been MORE than good to us and blessed us with a happy bundle of joy.

The boy is like his daddy, he's never met a camera that he doesn't like.  He's a ham--came out of the womb smiling and posing for photographs.

When I decided to try baby modeling for my son there was nothing out there to guide me.  I knew I didn't have any money to spend, so if it costed me a dime--I wasn't gonna pursue it.

The first few modeling agencies I tried contacting tried to get me to "enroll" my 6 month old in some classes. The next agency wanted me to spend a ton of money on photographs--they assured me that would get him in the door.

Finally I found a few reputable agencies that told me the truth--and I'm gonna pass those truths on to other parents who really think they have the next Gary Coleman or Rodney Allen Ripey--and want to develop that star quality!

1. Pray over your child--ask for God's favor and blessings.

2. Take some happy snapshots of your kid at home in his/her own surroundings.  Nothing fancy--you don't need a professional photographer--most agencies are looking for natural and normal kids.  So just take regular photos of your child and develop them at home or at your local Walgreen's.

3. Do some research, find a reputable modeling agency in your town that handles children.  If there is not one in your town, go to the next largest town in your region.  Call them, find out what they stand for. If they ask for money from you: RUN! If they want your child to take classes: RUN!  See who their clients are--Target, JC Penny, Macy's--if they've got kids in those places--then you know they're pretty legit.

4.  Get their name, phone number and contact information--so you can be sure you're mailing the right person the correct information. Oh yeah, no e-mails--they want actual photographs.  Agencies will usually reject e-mail pictures or dismiss them altogether.

5.  Once you develop your photos, on the back of them, write down your baby's name, age, weight, height, race, eye color, hair color and your phone number.  Draft up a four or five sentence letter (no more than that) letting the agent know that you'd like for them to represent your child as a model either in print or in broadcast.

6.  Stick it in the mail and wait for the offers to come in.

It's really that simple.  You'll go on auditions and if they like your kid, they'll call him/her and you'll get actual jobs for different companies.  I really believe prayer is the key to the success my son has had.  We pray before the shoots, we pray FOR the shoots, we pray after the shoots.  And if we get called, we rejoice, if we don't get called, we go to the park. You can't get caught up if you get the job or if you don't! 

We've been blessed and fortunate though--right now, Andrew is on the box of Target brand pampers, he's also the Target Christmas photo baby, we just completed the Macy's President's day sales advertisement and the Easter photos for JC Penny portrait studio.

God is good! 

It's a blessing because his grandparents in Houston and Ohio can walk in the different department stores and there he is--smiling and grinning with two or three teeth in his mouth.  My husband is so proud, he went to work with a jumbo sized box of pampers the other day...

But you have to be patient--there are 500 other mothers who have kids that look just like yours who want them to be modeling too--and everybody isn't going to get picked.

Some other tips is sit at home and practice taking photos with your child.  Sit them down on the floor and say "smile" or "cheese" and have them look at the light and not be afraid of the flash.  Every Sunday after church, my husband would prop Andrew up and take pictures of him--like 20 or 30 shots--he is such a proud Papa. But that's paid off now--and Andrew KNOWS when the camera is on and he KNOWS to look at that light and smile. It's amazing to me every time I see it.

If your child has a fear of strangers and doesn't like it when you leave the room--you might try doing some things to get them out of that--if you want to pursue a career for them in modeling.  A lot of times the agent will have myself or my husband leave the room so Andrew won't try to walk or crawl to us--if he was afraid of strangers or didn't like being without us--that wouldn't work.  The kid has got easily adapt to other people and be friendly.

I hope this helps--leave me a comment and let me know what you think!

Oh and I almost forgot--if there is more than one reputable agency in your area--sign up with each of them.  Because you NEVER know which companies are going with which agents.  That'll increase your child's chances of being seen.

Also, every four months or so--send new photos of your child to the agent with a little "reminder" letter saying "Hey, we're still here if you need us." so they'll have updated information and photographs on file of your kid.

Andrew loves women--he gets it from his daddy. The boy, at 15 months old, has been saying the word "girl" for three months. If he sees a girl--he gets excited.  He LOVES to hold a girl or hold her hand or kiss her--but my son ain't got no gentleness to him. He just runs right up to the baby girls and just grabs 'em--yanks 'em down to the ground--and just loves on 'em.

Mind, you, he ain't walking... so his strategy usually is to crawl over to where the unsuspecting female child is playing--pull up on her and then warp his arms around her and just start kissing and hugging!  And he ain't got no tact--the whole time he's screaming "girl girl girl"--and once he gets that girl, he yells "mine, mine, mine".

The other day we were at the doctor's office and there was this little white girl playing with a toy in the waiting area.  The child was about 3 or 4 months older than Andrew--so she was walking and talking--doing a lot more with her motor skills than my son was doing.  So he saw her and went wild.  I tried to keep him away from her--but he was determined to go over there.  I turned my back to hang his jacket up on the coat rack and before I knew it, little Speedy crawler Gonzales was already over there where the child was.  He grabbed her ankles--pulled up on her--cause he can't walk--grabbed her around the neck and started the love fest.  The child was terrified. She started crying and screaming "mommy, mommy, mommy..."! 

I thought it was a fluke until last night...

We were at a taping of Almanac on Minnesota's Twin Cities Public Television when Andrew spotted Mary LeHammer's daughter.  A three year old cutie pie with blond hair!  She was sporting a pink dress with snow boots that had a light on 'em--and the light would go off every time she made a step.  Now y'all know little Emmit Till couldn't resist don't you? Andrew saw that girl and yelled out "Girl!" and pointed over there at her.  This boy--who just got three shots in one leg and hadn't been mobile since the vaccinations--WALKED--over there to the baby girl and started chasing her. 

Mary was crouched down on the floor--and her daughter was running circles around her trying to get away from Andrew.  But that didn't stop my son--like OJ Simpson--he was determined to get that white woman!  He kept going and out-smarted a three year old--she went around--he stopped and she was forced to bump in to her. He put his arms around that child and squeezed her so tight--I thought he was going to choke the life out of her!

She was yelling to try and get away--but Andrew started screaming "Mine!" and was so excited he laughed hysterically.

Shawn went over and pulled his son off the girl and told him "Come on boy. Some times you gotta at least try to play hard to get. You can't go chasing women around like that."

"Well, ain't that the pot calling the kettle black." I told him, "That's been your method of operation for years..."

Has this ever happened to you? You're dressed and ready for a morning on the town but then, you hear your baby grunting, you think "Oh, its just gas!" So you shrug it off until you hear a timer buzz and you realize your toddler has just baked a chocolate two layer cake in his diaper.  That ain't so bad, I mean, you can clean up the cake batter, until he decides he wants to play with it.  Moments later, you are both full of cake batter and now the two of you must re-bath, wash the clothes you had on and start the whole process over. 

You're frustrated, and you wanna call a case worker and sign your son up for the first available foster family but then while you're bathing him, he looks up at you and gives you a toothless grin that just melts your heart. The smile doesn't go away (neither does the smell of chocolate cake batter) and you realize this is your son and he has the most pure and unconditional love for you so you lovingly smile back and he says "Da-Da"! Ain't that a hoot?

I see now why so many kids are in the system to be adopted.  Sad to say, after this incident, I signed little Andrew up.  They promised to have a home for him by mid-May.