Walks are the devil

At this week's play date with friends, it was brought to my attention that some people prefer to read The Pouty Puppy to my Adventures in Geremialand because TPP is funnier than AIG. So I thought to myself: why am I not making my posts funnier? I was so focussed on making my blog sound "mature" and "inspiring" that I left out one thing I am better at: being funny. Cuz let's be honest: I'm not mature or inspiring.

So... yet another change to the blog. Expect funny stories, funny anecdotes, and funny themes. Here's to hoping you actually laugh. 

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Once upon a time, we went for 2-4 walks a day. Get up in the morning, take Bauer for a walk, come home, hang out, go for another walk around 11, have a nap, go for another walk, and after bedtime I would get a little alone walk with Bauer.

NO. MORE.

Poor Bauer is lucky if he gets one walk a day. This kid is a disaster on walks.

Every time we take Bauer for a walk, Aryn, for some weird reason, has to bring the wagon with her. She won't go in it - she has to pull it. Hence the influx of Aryn-pulling-the-wagon photos. Natural light + bright red wagon + red-headed child = not too shabby photos. And expect to see more in the future: this is a daily occurrence and I will keep bringing my camera with me.

She literally stops to smell the flowers.

Today, however, she did not want to pull the wagon very far. She did not want to walk. She did not want to be pulled. She wanted to crawl, and meow like a kitty cat.

And she did this for an entire block.

She meowed, pawed, purred, and played with an imaginary ball of yard, and, when I was getting frustrated that we were only 4 houses away from our house after 20 minutes, and I told her I was leaving and started walking away, instead of either following me or throwing a fit (the two options she usually goes with), she instead sat down on the grass, picked up an old dog poop off the ground, and went to put it in her mouth.

Dear Aryn: cats don't eat dog poop.

Thank the Good Lord I saw it and ran like lightning to smack it out of her hand before it reached her clean, poopless mouth.

After that incident, I was pretty much done with the walk so we went home.

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I also hate it when Ryan is right. Actually, if I want to be politically correct, I should say: I hate it when Ryan is right and I am wrong. I do not like being wrong. In fact, when it does happen (which is a rarity), I would rather hide my wrongness and highlight my awesomeness.

Aryn has been refusing using the big toilet as of late. She would flip out, run away, hide behind a curtain or chair and do her business. It was stressful on all of us, so I gave up. Well, Ryan has been pressuring me to buy this kid a portable kids potty for a long time. I refused, thinking it would be better to teach her on the real potty, instead of a portable one.

Well.

I took the toilet out of the box, put it on the floor to show Aryn. She pulled off her diaper, sat down and peed.

Damn those men when they're right.

Here's to hoping we can stop purchasing diapers in the near future.

Peace out, yo.