Tonight I offered my son a chocolate chip cookie for a bedtime snack. (please, no comments on that one!?!) He opened the fridge in a ponderous way and surveyed some options. "I want communion instead."

I poured a glass of grape juice and got a piece of bread for each of us. We talked about these symbols of Jesus' blood and body, given for us. In his own 3 year old way, he understands communion in ways I have no access to. In addition to whatever is going on between him and God, I know he also likes dunking the bread in the juice, seeing it soak to point of absorption (or beyond) and eating it. What 3 year old wouldn't.

Towards the end of this holy "snack" Berto commented: "That's the most tastiest blood I ever tried."

At the grocery store, Alberto enjoys the shopping carts that are designed to look like cars, of course. But, unlike other kids I see happily munching their cheerios in the car carts, my son likes to get out of the cart, get down on the floor, pretend to be tinkering with the engine - just like Mr. Potts! He also likes it when I pretend to be Truly Scrumptious and say "Mr. Potts?" so he can pretend to bang his head on the underside of the car cart - just like Mr. Potts!

I love all the advice about how to make shopping trips easier with kids, but every once in a while I let him pretend he's Mr. Potts in the bread aisle, just to lighten my mood.

Any other moms of vehicle lovers out there? What's your favorite story? Have you visited any great construction sites lately? I'll bet you can differentiate between a back hoe and an excavator like I can (now that I'm a mom!?!).

As I browsed through the ideas I ruled out one after the other as too hard, not that cute, couldn't mail it...then saw one that seemed great for me and my kiddo. It appeared simple, was attractive, not too expensive, and could be mailed. There would be lots of scooping involved which little guys like. The idea was a hot chocolate ingredient cone. Fill a cone-shaped plastic bag with hot cocoa mix, then add on top chocolate sprinkles, mini-marshmallows, and top it with a cute red gumdrop. It ends up looking like an ice cream cone. I was excited. (This is what's called foreshadowing.)

The magazine assured me that I would have no trouble finding the cone-shaped plastic bags at a party supply store. That didn't turn out to be the case exactly for me. But that's okay, I thought, square bags will still be cute.

The big day came. "Berto, we're going to make some presents for people we love." "For me?" "No, for people like Grandma Mary and Grampa Joe. Ready?" "Presents for me?!?" Take a deep breath. The sooner we get started and he gets into it, the better, I thought.

I explained how we were going to scoop the hot chocolate mix into the first bag through the funnel. A little mix spills, no big deal.  "Can I eat a marshmallow?" "After we finish each one you may have 1 marshmallow. Ready to scoop the chocolate chips?" "Can I eat one?" "When we finish this first bag, you can have a marshmallow. We're going to make 8 bags." Dot, Dot, Dot.

Okay, somewhere around the fifth bag something began to unravel: mommy. After quite a few little spills of this and that, attempts to sneak gumdrops, liberal mixing of the marshmallows and chocolate chips, and blatant disregard for my noble endeavor to have him participate in the creation of a gift that could be reasonably billed as "made by Berto" I started to lose all grip on reality. Gone was my smile, my sense of humor, my perspective on this little activity, my conscience. I snarled at him. Oh, what a mothering moment! The spirit of giving was just sullied by the ogre of perfectionism once again. Will I ever learn?

I hate magazines.

As we changed Berto's clothes, stripped the bed, made the bed and stumbled back to sleep there wasn't much conversation. But in the morning, as my son and I debriefed over breakfast we decided this new 3rd category of pee-pee had been inaugurated. Fortunately for everyone, lay down pee-pee is rare at our house. And I felt so smug that my layering under the sheets actually succeeded in protecting the mattress - Yippee! another point for mom!

The day was going pretty well. I had planned a special breakfast of cinnamon rolls and sausages. Alberto was enamored by the tongs I was planning to use for cooking the sausages, so I let him play with them and used another pair. When we sat down to eat he decided he was up for the challenge of eating sausages with the tongs. Very interesting as an experiment in dexterity. After that got old he decided the sausages were bones and he was a dog. Try as he might he could not convince me to join in.

We played outside, inside, upsidedown. Before lunch our neighbor kids came over (4 girls, 3-8 years old) and things got a little rowdy. In the chaos of trying to finish lunch prep, the girls leaving the house, and a minor bump on the head my son started melting down and whining. I knew food would solve quite a bit of the meltdown so I was trying to push through to that goal. After reaching the edge of sanity and leaping over it I heard myself shout "STOP!" and then say "Just because you're hungry, your friends just left and you bumped your head doesn't mean you get to whine like crazy!" I should have just burst out laughing right then because it was so ridiculous to say this to a 3.5 year old. He, of course, burst into tears.

We were able to talk to each other a little more rationally after we bothed calmed down. "Berto, I'm sorry I yelled at you." "Mommy, I'm sorry I was whining." (I love those words!) We reconnected with a big hug and went to the courtyard to eat lunch.

As I write this I'm remembering the book "Happiest Toddler on the Block." The author lays out a comparison of how youngsters are like neandrethals and that you have to relate to them in a rather primitive way. My scenario would have supplied the perfect example of what not to do that seminar participants could observe and re-enact.

Today we went to get fruit smoothies at Jamba Juice before Steve and Alberto both got haircuts. We walked into Jamba Juice to the jazzy tune of "It's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together." More surreal here in Southern California where there's absolutely no chance of snow and just last week it was 95 degrees.

On the way home from haircuts, conversation turned to Christmas. We try really hard, especially with religious holidays, to emphasize the actual meaning of the holiday...but you all know how that can go with a 3 year old who has caught on to the present receiving quality of Christmas in particular. My husband and I bought Alberto a bike to give him for Christmas. (We love yard sales!) I have to admit we're both very excited to give him the bicycle. So, my husband decided to tell him that he can expect to get a present for Christmas. Oh, this was exciting news and he had to tell mommy. Then he was quiet for a while before announcing "I'm gonna have a lunchable for Christmas too!"

Poor kid eats too healthy I guess!

This reminds me of a story my sister told me. When her kids were younger, they took a trip to the mall to see Santa, sit on his lap and divulge to him their Christmas wishes. As the line slowly advanced, the clock ticked off morning hours and marched towards lunch time. Sarah, the third oldest hopped onto Santa's lap when it was finally her turn. At Santa's gentle prompting, she revealed all she wanted for Christmas was -- a bologna sandwich and some juice. So much for all the hoopla!

Have a great November, just day by day!