<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753</id><updated>2012-02-16T12:55:47.568-04:00</updated><category term='sharing'/><category term='tv'/><title type='text'>MammyNiceChile</title><subtitle type='html'>One Mummy, One nice chile and plenty stories...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-4757432876152312159</id><published>2008-09-12T19:12:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T20:02:15.019-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I give up!</title><content type='html'>One of these things is not like the other,&lt;br /&gt;One of these things just doesn't belong,&lt;br /&gt;Can you guess which thing is not like the other?&lt;br /&gt;Before I finish this song!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SMr-fcDJnbI/AAAAAAAAAFc/mF9Ui-O4rUg/s1600-h/books+001_new.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SMr-fcDJnbI/AAAAAAAAAFc/mF9Ui-O4rUg/s320/books+001_new.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245284532085169586" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Click pic to Enlarge (Please!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok you get 10 more seconds to think about it while I dig a hole and bury myself mkay?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes folks, lets take a guess which &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Let's Learn Science&lt;/span&gt; Mummy covered in brown paper, designed black and purple labels in Comic Sans font  and stuck with Elmers glue on little JDs books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And which &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Let's Learn Science&lt;/span&gt; Daddy covered in a MANILA ENVELOPE ( a wrinkled one to boot) drew 3 crooked lines  in pen and sent the poor child to school with it.  Guess...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take a look at the inside of the book people...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SMr-IpnHrhI/AAAAAAAAAFU/u8ql3Gfm2oE/s1600-h/books+004_new.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SMr-IpnHrhI/AAAAAAAAAFU/u8ql3Gfm2oE/s320/books+004_new.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245284140588707346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sigh* Men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its a good thing we bought two of the same book. One last guess...guess which book is now hidden under the bed?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-4757432876152312159?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/4757432876152312159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=4757432876152312159&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/4757432876152312159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/4757432876152312159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-give-up.html' title='I give up!'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SMr-fcDJnbI/AAAAAAAAAFc/mF9Ui-O4rUg/s72-c/books+001_new.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-3072041398254595260</id><published>2008-08-29T19:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-29T23:26:05.637-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The fall heard around the world</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/104/286877335_1fb7502262.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/104/286877335_1fb7502262.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Steups, minding my damn business today waiting for a friend to finish a test.  Decide to go check out a store in Royal Palm Plaza, except the store was on the other side of the parking lot. Small ting, let me stand on this foot high wall, hold my son's hand and hop down the very short frigging step. Nooooooo of course not, it couldn't be that simple. I couldn't just start the day right. NAH...BUDDDUP!! I miss step and you know that second where you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;think &lt;/span&gt;you not going to fall? That second where you tell yourself 'phew boy that could have been embarassing'.  The second where you think 'what happened there boy?'. Well during that second I found my ass in the gravel of the parking lot. WTF! How-in-the-hell-could-I-fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I am trying to pick my ass up off the ground and I hear 'MUMMYYYYYYY!! You threw me down!' and lying next to me on the ground is my child, whose hand I was holding at the time. So  not only did I embarass myself but  my child too who is looking at me in this accusatory tone. Then he starts to howl. Then I start to feel bad, when I realize his mouth has a little bruise and well he's dirty as all hell because we were both just lying in the gravel and dewy dirt of the flecking parking lot.  Wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As if I wasnt embarassed enough, as if the crying guilt trip didnt really cut it, after we are all cleaned up and chilling in the car I am hearing that little boy on the backseat looking through the back window talking to a truck that is perilously close to the short wall of death and he's saying  'Careful Mr. Truck, careful... you might fall.' Then I hear him mumble 'Like us' and I swear I saw him glare at me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-3072041398254595260?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/3072041398254595260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=3072041398254595260&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3072041398254595260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3072041398254595260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2008/08/fall-heard-around-world.html' title='The fall heard around the world'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8445936200336258325</id><published>2007-09-10T23:24:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-12T20:39:25.610-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Look at what I found...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RuYKzIYzWsI/AAAAAAAAACs/mXO0xa8yIEY/s1600-h/IMG_0799_crop.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RuYKzIYzWsI/AAAAAAAAACs/mXO0xa8yIEY/s320/IMG_0799_crop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108782700839525058" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somebody's kid who was 'Caught being Good'  (thats what the sticker says) on his first day of Kindergarten, ended up knocked out on the back seat of my car.  My child however was sprawled on the ground throwing a fit about 30 minutes after this.  Somebody needs to come get their well behaved kid...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those strangers 'Good' kid also got a stellar report after his first week of school.  Follows all instructions, is so well behaved, no one has any problems with him. Jovial, friendly, sharp and only has to be told to do anything once.  He is still being evaluated however because he may have to jump back a class since his letter recognition is non existent and his letter writing is...what is less than non existent?  However Aunty is just up in the air with him this first week because she keeps saying he's so sharp that she doesn't want to send him back quite yet, until she's sure. So we'll see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first day was harder on Mummylicious and Daddylicious than on mammynicechile.  He was (unnecessarily) up at 5:30am, overly excited at the prospect of school.  After getting introduced to his Aunty he was like 'So...yeah...can I go play now?'.  Because clearly kids playing with blocks is more fun than hugging your parental units.  We were quite hurt. Stood outside the school chatting for absolutely no reason for a couple minutes.  Daddylicious seemed quite torn that his baby was now a man, and even went to spy on him at lunch time but saw nothing (ok ok I was no help there, he said his heart wouldn't be able to take the trauma if he saw him all lonely in a corner but I convinced him to go anyway, yes we're hover-ers but it was the first day of school sheesh and its not like anyone saw him and we didn't plan to go again, why am I trying to defend this?).  So now its onto the...rest of his life! Poor child. Little does he know, this is only the beginning of this school shizz.  I wonder how long he'll continue to be excited by all this? I'm over it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8445936200336258325?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8445936200336258325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8445936200336258325&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8445936200336258325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8445936200336258325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/09/look-at-what-i-found.html' title='Look at what I found...'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RuYKzIYzWsI/AAAAAAAAACs/mXO0xa8yIEY/s72-c/IMG_0799_crop.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-2317507325136068065</id><published>2007-09-10T22:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T22:40:41.543-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Leg and Thigh, some fries maybe...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77667545@N00/43785070/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/32/43785070_685043f721_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="margin-top: 0px;font-size:0;" &gt;  &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77667545@N00/43785070/"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/77667545@N00/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I am brushing small mans hair one day and like a typical Mommy his face is smushed into my bosom. He takes his little index finger and pokes me and goes 'Mummy whats this?'. So I steups and say 'You KNOW what that is...what is it?' He says matter of factly 'A bwest.' So I say 'Exactly so why you asking me then? Steups.' Then he starts to chuckle so I ask him whats so funny smallest? He says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*chuckle*&lt;br /&gt;When you called K-Epp-See (KFC), you asked them for a BWEST!&lt;br /&gt;*chuckle chuckle*&lt;br /&gt;Why you ask K-Epp-See for a BWEST!?&lt;br /&gt;*chuckle chuckle*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; So by now I am dying of laughter because:&lt;br /&gt;1. He is a maco and he is taking notes when I am on the phone&lt;br /&gt;2. Poor child! Why is he trying to find a correlation between types of bwests at 3yrs old?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I explain to him that chickens also have bwests, I mean breasts. While he thought this was hilarious I think he made a mental note to investigate the next chicken he saw to make sure he did indeed see nipples.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I need to order less k-ep-see. Hmmmm...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-2317507325136068065?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/2317507325136068065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=2317507325136068065&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/2317507325136068065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/2317507325136068065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/09/leg-and-thigh-some-fries-maybe_10.html' title='Leg and Thigh, some fries maybe...'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm1.static.flickr.com/32/43785070_685043f721_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8089071703654561636</id><published>2007-08-22T14:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T14:22:40.547-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Slacker</title><content type='html'>I know. I am a slacker.  See there are so many funny stories that by the time I remember to post one I missed so many that I try to remember the first set of funny then I get myself to here...  Where I post nothing for a couple months.  So here I am back with one loooonnnggg, not so funny but hopefully this will get me back in the groove.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8089071703654561636?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8089071703654561636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8089071703654561636&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8089071703654561636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8089071703654561636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/08/slacker.html' title='Slacker'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-7013557721877319735</id><published>2007-08-19T21:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T22:21:33.266-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Play to Learn</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/idontknowwhat1/388312570/" title="photo sharing"&gt;&lt;img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/165/388312570_c9541a0c07_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: 2px solid rgb(0, 0, 0);" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; First off I never understood why most places (the &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;US&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;&lt;/st1:place&gt;) spell the word ‘KindergarTen’! Whats a ‘garten’?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then I see places in &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Trinidad&lt;/st1:place&gt; adopting the spelling and I get irritated.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Please correct me if I am missing something and the word is really supposed to be kindergarten because for the life of me…  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Nehow so the past couple weeks mummylicous and daddylicous have been stressing and giving themselves migraines over this whole play to learn/ kindergarden thing.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Small man is currently at what is called a Play to Learn Day Care (PTLD).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Probably every day someone asks me ‘So what school is he at? Is he at school yet?’ and when I say ‘Well it’s a play to learn day care where he’s supposed to stay until he begins Primary school’ they look at me like I am some sort of negligent mommy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Little do they know how sick we are with it, but are we sick enough, that’s the question?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So we started thinking the other day that while we have no evidence to prove that kids who can read/write/spell/sing/speak in Spanish and French are more advanced than any other kids, we also have no evidence that kids from play to learn day cares are at any advantage or disadvantage either.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We just doh know.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;We can’t go to the PTLD and do a poll of the past 5 years and draw graphs comparing it to the other kindergardens that are rigid and find the percentage of kids from each that make it to ‘good’ primary schools and then ‘good’ secondary schools.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;To hear the teachers and owners of each of these places, they have the right equation, they know what they’re doing, you’re child is better off with them.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Of course he is, you’re charging me $700 bucks a month.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The theory behind PTLD is that kids at such a young age should not be forced to do much academically, that through playtime, exploring their environment and social interaction they will learn all they need to know in order to thrive in Primary School.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They believe that 3 and 4 year olds do not need to learn to write novels and read The Iliad before primary school.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And that when they get to Primary School they will be just as quick as the other kids, their minds will be just as open and they will learn at the same rate as any other child, so let them play and explore while they can.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There is however the other side of the coin where your child is sent to Kindergarden (some more rigid than others), they learn the entire first primer, write all their letters, sound and recognize all sorts of words and numbers and are whiz kids by the time they begin primary school.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Our options currently are:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;ol style="margin-top: 0in;" start="1" type="1"&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;Leave      him at the PTLD and see if he will be ready to start school next year (at      4yrs old about to turn 5 soon after school starts)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;Leave      him at the PTLD and don’t start him in school until he’s 5 (about to turn      6)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;Send      him to rigid Kindergarden where he will get sent home with homework and be      reading and writing like a pro in a years time&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li class="MsoNormal" style=""&gt;Send      him to not so rigid Kindergarden where he has to wear a uniform, doesn’t      get to watch &lt;st1:street st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:address st="on"&gt;Sesame Street&lt;/st1:address&gt;&lt;/st1:street&gt;      everyday, does a little bit of everything but its really still school at      the end of the day.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Every option has its pros and its cons.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Option 1&lt;/b&gt; puts us in the position where he may not be ready for school next year because believe it or not certain Primary schools have an ‘evaluation’ almost a year before (this December) before they decide if your child can register for the school..&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;With &lt;b style=""&gt;Option 2&lt;/b&gt; he will be one of the older kids in the class which might not matter anymore but back in the day, the younger kids had a second ‘chance’ at common entrance.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Option 3&lt;/b&gt;, he learns to read and write before primary school and is more advanced on entry.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This option worries me a bit because I wonder if this is one where the parents do it for themselves. To have the opportunity to tell people that ‘JD can read and he’s only 2, ‘JD knows all his number to 50, he’s writing AND counting in Spanish’.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;Option 4&lt;/b&gt; might just be pushing him before he’s ready, and if its anything I’ve learned about this child, he does nothing until he’s good and ready.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He’s a smart little boy, tell him something once and he remembers it but when he doesn’t want to, he’s long gone onto something else more interesting.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There are kids who thrive on learning their alphabet and reciting their numbers and learning how to add and subtract (I was like that), he is not one of those.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He’s more of an auditory learner.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He can tell you his bedtime stories or sing his nursery rhymes because I do that every night, or repeat a conversation someone had with him AND he loves to play, we taught him how to count in Spanish from going up and down the stairs with him, but only when he was ready :S&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;It sounds like I’ve made up my mind right? Not so much.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Its so hard to have to think about these things for a 3 year old and above all, we as parents don’t want to do the ‘wrong’ thing :S We don’t want to not give him the opportunity to go to one of these schools because we thought it would be too much.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Suppose it isn’t? Suppose it is?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Dr. Bratt says send him to school at 7yrs old.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Dr. Bratt also told me to stop working when I had a hard time pumping my milk in the bathroom at work when I first started back working.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Dr.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Bratt is a bit of a radical and while he was joking at the time he still believes that we are pushing kids way too hard from too young right now.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He says ‘That’s what they do in &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Sweden&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt; where the education system is top notch! The kids play to learn til they’re 7! Yuh will burn out the child!’.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Whats quite sad is that there are a ton of parents who are not worrying about these things, they just don’t care, they barely realize its time for Junior to head to school! &lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I know we will eventually follow our gut and weigh our choices and be confident with our decision but geez man.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-7013557721877319735?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/7013557721877319735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=7013557721877319735&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/7013557721877319735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/7013557721877319735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/08/play-to-learn.html' title='Play to Learn'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm1.static.flickr.com/165/388312570_c9541a0c07_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8888145138585380360</id><published>2007-06-15T12:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T22:36:43.815-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ingrate</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/230/475877763_9fcde9a665.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/230/475877763_9fcde9a665.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So this morning, we had an accident in our bed, our Mummy changed us, changed our sheets, gave us a hug then because we're so grateful for all her love and attention we proceeded to let her know that we didn't like her anymore.  Just so, Dry so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;' Mummy I thought I don't like you any,  I only like my Daddy'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Times like this I does want to put the disclaimer from &lt;a href="http://www.snarkymomma.com/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; on my blog.  Because really...that is me eh, all this nice flowery fun stuff...not me 65% of the time.  The people who know me, know this.  Newho,  this comment came on a not so great morning. So I didn't handle it too well. I am still quite bitter about it actually. This is as opposed to a few weeks ago when he told his daddy that he liked him better than Elliot (his friend from school) but he liked Elliot better than Mummy.  This is to my face he said this, the little ingrate didn't wait til I left the room to say this.  That time I almost laughed.  But not so much.  This time,  6 hours later I'm still bitter about it and didn't take it too well, I actually told him not to talk to me then since he doh like me so much. Poor child get confused one time, start speaking in full sentences all of a sudden. Please and thank you like he's supposed to , shoes on the correct feet, tried to help me put on my clothes, reminded me to put on my work id that I never wear.  And I didn't feel bad for telling him that.  I may remove that sentence later on when I calm down.  Maybe I'm calming down already. Somebody reminded me this morning that he doesn't know what he was saying and I was about to respond that he knows what he likes and doesn't like. Then I remembered that he likes ketchup by Aunty Joy but he doesn't like ketchup with me. Matter of fact,  he likes everything everywhere else but with me.  Are we detecting a pattern here?   This behavior also reminded me of his behavior with Grandma, who I am convinced he's in love with.   I pulled up in front her house last week and I think he started to hyperventilate, he start to pelt himself  all over my back seat with glee.  I was in shock for about 2 minutes while he was carrying on.   Then I took him out the car and he walked right by her, mumbled something that sounded like 'Aye woman' and kept on moving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Steups,  if this is love...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to prove that I do indeed still like my child,  I jumped through some hoops to figure out how to post these audio links.  These are his versions of some well known Nursery Rhymes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.fileden.com/files/2007/6/15/1179407/Nursery%20rhymes1.mp3"&gt;Remix&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.fileden.com/files/2007/6/15/1179407/Nursery%20rhymes2.mp3"&gt;Remix2&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8888145138585380360?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8888145138585380360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8888145138585380360&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8888145138585380360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8888145138585380360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/06/ingrate.html' title='Ingrate'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8475117522100701640</id><published>2007-05-14T19:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T19:33:16.687-04:00</updated><title type='text'>3yroldboy version 2.0</title><content type='html'>I am hereby submitting my proposal for a new version of 3YrOldBoy.  He can look something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RkjwNfP6BRI/AAAAAAAAACM/SQrwcl56PZ0/s1600-h/stick+figure.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RkjwNfP6BRI/AAAAAAAAACM/SQrwcl56PZ0/s320/stick+figure.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064561895495304466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And follow this pattern:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  The soles of his feet will be made of swiffer wet jets and automatically replaced swiffer sheets, to avoid the excessive mopping that goes along with version 1.0, because frankly I hate mopping and swore to never do it and well that not really working out for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  The fingernails shall not get dirty.  Ever. To avoid the scrubbing that usually takes place with version 1.0&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Version 2.0 will WANT to bathe and when they get in the shower and Mummy version1.0 says its time to get out  v2 will agree to get out and stop being contrary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Version 2.0 will eat.   Everything, all the time and not be content with plain macaroni, plain rice, slices of bread, crix, bake, roti and Mauby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  When version 2.0 passes gas he will not announce 'SCOOSE ME!!!' to anyone who will listen.  He will pass his gas,  say excuse me quietly and move on with his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.   Version 2.0 will go to bed by 8pm and not wake up until the sun is awake in the sky because Mummy v1 would like to finally get some sleep after 3 years of being awakened every 2 hours thanks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  Version 2.0 will not follow mummy v1 into the shower and continue to ask questions like 'Can I watch you a little bit?' or 'Can I have some crix and cheese when you finish please?' or 'What you doin?'  because showers are supposed to be relaxing dammit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Version 2.0 will know when to remind his daddy to give him a hair cut so that his daddy doesn't forget and have him looking homeless once a month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  Version 2.0 will not want to use every bathroom in every mall/grocery/ cinema/ store in a 2 hour period on a hot Saturday morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Version 2.0 will not find the last piece of dirt on the earth, walk in it, then walk on his mummys newly vacuumed car seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*** Version 2.0 may also come with additional hugs and kisses because everyone loves more hugs and kisses ***&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just for giggles:&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/AKKerr/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot-1.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rkjw5vP6BSI/AAAAAAAAACU/jtgkkhlB_EE/s1600-h/Stick10.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rkjw5vP6BSI/AAAAAAAAACU/jtgkkhlB_EE/s320/Stick10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064562655704515874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8475117522100701640?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8475117522100701640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8475117522100701640&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8475117522100701640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8475117522100701640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/05/3yroldboy-version-20.html' title='3yroldboy version 2.0'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RkjwNfP6BRI/AAAAAAAAACM/SQrwcl56PZ0/s72-c/stick+figure.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-5550902622997709689</id><published>2007-05-13T10:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T19:41:49.977-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Mothers Day!!!!!</title><content type='html'>First of all to myself, thankyouverymuch. Pat myself on my back. *toot toot* Thats me tooting my own horn. Anndddddd...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To my Daddy (yes my Daddy!), Aunty Taki, Aunty Lystra, Mammy Nice Chile's Grandma,  Aunty Jan, Aunty Dalia,  Niala, Tanya, Parry, Aunty Joy, Aunty Karon, Marianne, Amanda, Aunty Heather, Aunty Carol, Pat, Aunty Rose, Angie, Beverly's mummy, Winnie at work...hmmm I know I forgetting plenty people I will add more as I remember.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-5550902622997709689?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/5550902622997709689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=5550902622997709689&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/5550902622997709689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/5550902622997709689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/05/happy-mothers-day.html' title='Happy Mothers Day!!!!!'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8955047839263830010</id><published>2007-05-13T09:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-13T10:17:19.399-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Its a boy!!! No...its a girl?</title><content type='html'>Yay!! I'm back... I'll talk about where I've been and what I've been doing in a little bit. But first!  Is not that Mammy nice chile hasn't done anything stupendous, or cute or funny in the last month you know. Nah is because I like embarassment is why I am finally back. This is finally clear to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on Thursday some bright Mummy at the daycare/preschool decide to send home an invitation for a party on Saturday...steups, suppose I had something to do.  Neway so the invitation comes home with Mammy Nice Chile Daddy, now most times I double check eh. Most times, I ask the day care questions after he has told me something,  I ask them if they told him about any field trips, any letters, stuff like that nah.  Because really, he walks in there to pick up his child and they could tell him the sky falling and he will tell them cool and take his child and leave with no regard for the sky or its status.  So he tells me party Saturday, I say for who? Some child name Joel he says. I say *in my head* who the hell is that then I say how old is this Joel. He says 4.  I say cool,  you will give me the invitation later.   Run in the mall, buy  a cool little tool set for Joel, with a  battery operated  power saw, a hammer,  some workman's glasses,  some 'nails', a screwdriver.  A tool set nah.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great, so party time.  We pull up at Pizza Boys, walk in the party some kids start to shout when they see JD so I say 'phew, this must be the right party because I ain't know none ah dese ppl'.  So I say ' Go find Joel, give him his present' and another little girl says 'Come, give Jael your present'.  Things start to get a little hazy in the room.  I start thinking 'This party sure has alot of girls'.  I see about 4 little girls pulling another little...girl towards us.  I still looking for Joel.  Because we have a cute little  tool set for Joel remember.  Then I see 2 little girls and they keep coming, and I starting to feel sick because one of them is saying 'Jael, come for your present'. And I am still half smiling because Joel must be right behind right? RIGHT? Wronnngggggg!!!!! Its Jael! not Joel!  Whyyyy mmmmeeeeeeeee??  Shame. Shame. Shame.  So the girl takes her tool set and I follow her, where I meet her mother and explain to her mother that I thought she was a boy and I bought a tool set. Mummy is really gracious, says Jael is a tomboy so she will more than play with it and that I shouldn't worry about it too much.  Of course Mammy Nice Chile Daddy is cracking up on the phone, from far the hell away from any kind of embarassment.  Steups! Double Steups...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8955047839263830010?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8955047839263830010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8955047839263830010&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8955047839263830010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8955047839263830010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/05/its-boy-noits-girl.html' title='Its a boy!!! No...its a girl?'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8598150419842712700</id><published>2007-04-16T09:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-16T11:40:31.248-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Stuntman</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RiOYQ7x95GI/AAAAAAAAAB0/LUCn9LPyjyE/s1600-h/tightrope.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RiOYQ7x95GI/AAAAAAAAAB0/LUCn9LPyjyE/s320/tightrope.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054050623532426338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I don't know what I am going to do the day I have to go to the hospital because my child needs stitches.&lt;br /&gt;They might need to sedate me and keep me over night because the one or two times we have had accidents or unfortunately had to go to the hospital have been, probably the most awful times of my life. Those first couple minutes when you don't know what is going on and you have no control are beyond words. Apparently...jokes on me because girls I hear, don't get in as much trouble and are not as adventurous.  See girls tend to not take running leaps off the bed shouting Mummy look at me!! I'm Batman! Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach those times but by the time you've turned around Batman has sailed to the ground and landed perfectly already. Or 'Supermayne' has lithely disembarked from the arm of the couch, or better yet the back of the couch.  And when I say glide and land...I mean those words.   He is always climbing off of something to jump.  And  really he's not a  clumsy child, he's nimble and is pretty good at falling and getting right back up and continuing his run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do know that the couple times he's fallen hard enough to make him cry, I cried more than he did. I think my crying made him stop because he was like 'Aye...lady...MY head hurting? You bounce your head too or what?'  Those were the times when  his short life flashed before my eyes and I realized how tiny he was and how anything can hurt him.  I realize that as strong as he seems and as own way as he is and rough and tumble as he carries himself  that his limbs are a fraction of the size of mine and that even though he stands with arms akimbo like he's a little man, he is far from that.  Those are the times I want to keep him home forever and not expose him to the wild, crazy universe out there.  But those times quickly come to an end as he stops crying, takes the kiss to fix the booboo, removes himself from my hug and walks balancing with his arms out, up my leg and tries to climb over my neck. Because while I am there worrying about keeping him out of harms way all that makes sense to him is to try to make it over my neck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8598150419842712700?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8598150419842712700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8598150419842712700&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8598150419842712700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8598150419842712700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/04/stuntman.html' title='Stuntman'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/RiOYQ7x95GI/AAAAAAAAAB0/LUCn9LPyjyE/s72-c/tightrope.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-697114425219531400</id><published>2007-04-16T08:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-16T08:47:00.362-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A whole lotta nuthin...</title><content type='html'>This was an exchange I had with small man yesterday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: Mummy, can I have....uhhhh...uhh...something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Uhhm, something like what? Something to eat, something to play with, something to drink? what kind of something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: Uhhhmmm, I don't know...just something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Child, you want nothing, thats you're problem, you want nothing, steups...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: Yeah *smiling* I want nothing. Mummy can I have nothing please?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: *Laughing* You want nothing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Him: Yes Mummy, please can I have nothing, please....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor fella, I thought he understood what nothing was, but I guess when you don't know what you want in the first place, nothing might really be the thing to have!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-697114425219531400?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/697114425219531400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=697114425219531400&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/697114425219531400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/697114425219531400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/04/whole-lotta-nuthin.html' title='A whole lotta nuthin...'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-3211337093886409359</id><published>2007-04-12T12:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-12T12:33:47.797-04:00</updated><title type='text'>God will save me</title><content type='html'>I know I know, I'm a slacker. I haven't posted in a while. I think I keep wanting to write essays when I have many little nuggets I can drop like this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So last month sometime small man comes and tells me 'Mummy, God will save you, you know.' So of course I was like 'What?!!?' because he comes with the weirdest, most unrelated things sometimes, for example, right after that he told me he bought an alien in the goocery (grocery).  So I ask him what he meant by that. So he said 'Mummy, when I am a bad boy, God will save you'. So I say well yes...either he just get an epiphany from the man above or he heard his grandma say something about only God being able to save 'dat child' and he decided to repeat it.  In any case I decided that if anyone know who could save me from that child when he misbehaving it would be him. So I say I will take that one to heart because musse only God could save me for real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to this week. He comes again and asks me to read the 'God will save me book'. So I am back to being confused. He goes to his room and brings back this book on the 23rd Psalm that I read to him once before a long time ago that talks about how you don't need to be afriad because God will always be there for you and &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;bam...&lt;/span&gt;there on page 10 'God will save you'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See how they remember every little thing?  Sit there and think they doh understand and they can't extrapolate and relate.  I really need to watch my mouth some more around him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-3211337093886409359?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/3211337093886409359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=3211337093886409359&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3211337093886409359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3211337093886409359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/04/god-will-save-me.html' title='God will save me'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-1118759191950353880</id><published>2007-03-26T14:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-26T18:34:01.783-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mammy Spoil Chile?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So I was having a discussion with a friend of mine about spoiling your children.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was of the opinion that if I made millions of dollars I would not just hand over cars, trips and money to my kids without reason.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I would want to them to work for some of it and even more I would require them to appreciate where I got it from.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Not saying that I wouldn’t sponsor them trips to &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Europe&lt;/st1:place&gt; or buy a second hand car for them. But I am not buying a new BMW when you get your license and I am not putting you up in the best hotel when you get to &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Europe&lt;/st1:place&gt;. And best believe I am not doing any of this if you are a ‘gimme gimme’ child.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;If I send you to &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Europe&lt;/st1:place&gt; and when you come back you talking about &lt;i style=""&gt;having&lt;/i&gt; to go to Japan next month totally at my expense, we will fall out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Now my reasoning behind this is that I work and will continue to work really hard for what I earn today and in the future.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have gone months without luxuries in the past and doh talk bout when I was a broke student, somehow surviving with 5USD in my bank account for a couple months, thank God for free room and board.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The thing is, I learnt a lot going through those things.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I learnt how to appreciate and budget when I do have, I learnt how to treat myself for my own hard work and I also learnt that nothing comes easy. &lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But maybe it comes easy for some of us and I shouldn’t punish my child if I can make it easy for him? &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;And should I turn up my nose at people who choose to make life too easy for their kids?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;At the same time, while I walk around with these notions of ‘hard work my child’ I think when put into the situation we react differently.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;While I am not any millionaire and remain about $999,999.99 short of being one, my child wants for nothing as long as we can afford it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Even his father who day after day walked home from &lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Fatima&lt;/st1:place&gt; to save his traveling money indulges him.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;One time he begged for a toy train, got it and less than a week later Mr. train decide he wasn’t going to work like he was supposed to.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The train couldn’t be returned probably because a wheel was already broken or something so his father bought him another train because he knew he loved it so much and didn’t have the heart to not let him play with that train until he got tired of it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Granted the train cost about $30 and he’s only 3 and doesn’t want for much more than the pretty pack of corn curls in the grocery I am sure when he gets older and wants for more, we will continue to give him because who we working for if not for him?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;**Before people get the wrong idea, this was a one time thing, he doesn't have double all his toys and 'No' is a familiar word around these parts.  When I say he wants for nothing,  I mean he will have all the diapers he needs, he will have the best car seat and the best stroller and the best of all the necessities.  He's not walking around in Toddler brands unless I find something on sale somewhere but he looks nice when he's dressed up.  He doesn't control the shopping or anything but he will get chocolate pudding in the grocery if he asks for it and if he is not the pudding monster about it.  Right so moving on...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;But then how will he learn the lessons I learnt from being broke? How will he learn that sometimes you have to suck it up and work as a cashier, a bartender or a waitress to make your own money?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Working the cash register at Daddy’s store somehow won’t have the same effect will it?&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My nephew walks around talking about being bored constantly. He only happens to be bored when he’s not allowed to touch the TV, his Nintendo DS, his DS lite or his gameboy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He’s bored when he has to practice his piano until he gets it right.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have been threatening him lately to show him what it is to really be bored.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I want to send him outside to go and pick leaves or watch the sky for two hours by himself. THAT is bored. Bored is me reading A House for Mr. Biswas when I was 10 years old. Why? Because it was there and I didn’t have anything else to do, regardless of if I understood 75% of the words.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I’m rambling now but I guess I know that at the end of the day you have to strike a balance.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I can’t &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;not &lt;/span&gt;spoil my child, because he’s mine and I am working this hard for myself and for him to enjoy the things I might not have been able to enjoy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But at the same time everything will be within reason.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I won’t have him wanting things just because he thinks he deserves it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When he can earn it, he will deserve it.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I think my friend put it best when she said ‘They can’t have everything they want but they will have when they don’t even want.’&lt;/p&gt;Thoughts?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-1118759191950353880?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/1118759191950353880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=1118759191950353880&amp;isPopup=true' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/1118759191950353880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/1118759191950353880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/mammy-spoil-chile.html' title='Mammy Spoil Chile?'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-3677826042922431764</id><published>2007-03-19T08:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-19T12:50:19.802-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No what?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf6BkDn0G5I/AAAAAAAAABs/cxaIGqttMMw/s1600-h/tank.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf6BkDn0G5I/AAAAAAAAABs/cxaIGqttMMw/s320/tank.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043611089149107090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Excuse me this fine morning while I go collect my finest rustiest barrels and longest pieces of plywood and old buss up tires because I have a major road to go and block with my debris.  Steupppssssssss&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now yesterday we realize the pipes and dem coughing we say 'Excuse me Mr pipe? Whats the problem'. Pipe say 'No water ma'am'. Check de tank, no water!!! Tank dry. Why you ask because we live nice yesterday morning, we had bubble baths, we washed loads and loads of clothes all using the tank water because we didn't know that WASA was about to cut de damn water and never bring it back....EVER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I not sure if I mad at WASA or if I am more mad with my family who just chilling, 'It will come back' they say 'Well surely everyone else have no water' they say. And I say 'When will it come back and because everybody else have no water this makes it better!'. 'So go by Aunty around the corner and bathe'...I say 'No'. Why must I cart my towel by somebody else house to bathe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I get it, now I get why those ppl who go without water for weeks at a time block the roads. Now I understand the anger and the frustration because I have been without water for less then 24 hours and I am steaming, I past steaming. I am calling alllllll the numbers WASA leave on the bill because I need water and I need it now.  And all who say I being uppity because I have no water for a few hours can all kiss my dirty a$$. I hate being unable to wash my hands or sitting by the outside pipe for an hour to get a third of a bucket of water with which to wash my hands.  Look I seeing ah old bed post there, I think I will use that to help block de road too...I gone...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;***Update: I hear dat man go outside and suddenly I hearing gushing water. How bout some random somebody decide to come in the yard (I guess yesterday) and turn off our water that comes in from the main line. I guess ha ha jokes on us, see how long it will take us to figure it out. This is after I done rough up the WASA girl on the phone eh. Now I have to call her back.  But I think i still going to block up de road for all those ppl who don't have water today and haven't had any for 2 weeks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-3677826042922431764?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/3677826042922431764/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=3677826042922431764&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3677826042922431764'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3677826042922431764'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/no-what.html' title='No what?'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf6BkDn0G5I/AAAAAAAAABs/cxaIGqttMMw/s72-c/tank.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-7897629216592227255</id><published>2007-03-16T10:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T10:08:33.220-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dictionary</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Parrot/ Pirate/ Pie-rot&lt;/span&gt; - a bird, a man with a sword&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1. Mummy I am a parrot, I have to find a treasizzle&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;CorePee &lt;/span&gt;- Picker Upper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1.Mummy is this Corepee?? when I give him chocolate Lasco&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bite&lt;/span&gt; - what the sun does when its very hot&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1. Mummy the sun too bright and hot, it biting me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sigot&lt;/span&gt; - a lapse in memory&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1. Uh Oh I sigot to brush my teeth Mummy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Weighty&lt;/span&gt; - Traditional East Indian food&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1. For Divali we went to our friend's house and had delicious weighty&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;keem/cream &lt;/span&gt;- That which cures all, might as well be the cure for world peace&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1. Your head hurting Mummy? I'll get you some keem!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2. I have a cut on my foot mummy, I need keem...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Norby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; -&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt; juice made from the bark of a tree also known as Mauby&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Cute&lt;/span&gt; - A letter of the alphabet, also known as the letter Q&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Napkin&lt;/span&gt; - what one does when one is tired, also known as a nap&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-7897629216592227255?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/7897629216592227255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=7897629216592227255&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/7897629216592227255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/7897629216592227255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/dictionary.html' title='Dictionary'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8941532195226958173</id><published>2007-03-16T07:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-19T12:45:22.775-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Yummy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1WADn0G3I/AAAAAAAAABc/qzO1WG-2mLI/s1600-h/ice-cream-sundae.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1WADn0G3I/AAAAAAAAABc/qzO1WG-2mLI/s320/ice-cream-sundae.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043281716697111410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I know one day he will grow up, he will start smelling like Fatima grounds football field and like a sweaty teenager. He will start to want to impress girls and smell like all the colognes in the world. Then he will learn that lesson and have that signature cologne of his. He will start smelling like a man, someone's husband (blech). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But today he smells like mine, he smells like dirt and old chocolate pudding left on his face.  He smells like sweet milky milo and aquafresh kids toothpaste.  He smells like a 3yr old who spends most of his time liming on the ground or jumping off the chairs, grimy.  He smells like powder and soap when he's just finished bathing (this smell only lasts about 20 minutes) ever.  He smells like peanut butter and jelly and crix and cheese...Yummy, i love smelling him. He thinks i'm crazy because he just realized what I always do, so now he wants to smell me back.  I don't smell like any of these things. I hope I smell like 'Mummy' though however that is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8941532195226958173?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8941532195226958173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8941532195226958173&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8941532195226958173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8941532195226958173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/yummy.html' title='Yummy'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1WADn0G3I/AAAAAAAAABc/qzO1WG-2mLI/s72-c/ice-cream-sundae.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-6994342626790963691</id><published>2007-03-15T15:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T15:51:48.310-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sharing'/><title type='text'>Sharing is Caring...or fighting</title><content type='html'>Why all my headings is always the opposite of what the ting supposed to be. No means yes, sharing means not sharing. So we had a sharing issue yesterday. En is using the music player, JD wants it Naowwww.   Then he start to bawl and run and act de bottom because I say he will get it after.  So he get send in his room. Yeah ok...he not staying there. So my new thing to do with him is to show him that 'Hey mummy not going to get frustrated, nor am I going to shout, nor am I going to ask you over and over to do the same thing.  You will stay where I tell you and if you try to move I will hold you and by the way , you not stronger than me, so you can fight and I will whistle a happy tune out loud, then you will get tired but by then I might be so internally irritated you might just go straight to your bed so go ahead.  This has worked the last few times. He calms down because he wants to go play, we have a chat then he goes quietly and sits wherever I tell him.  Not yesterday. Ohhhh nooooo...a good 45 minutes I holding this child. And when I say hold I don't mean in any rock-a-bye baby hold eh.  Is more a trap, between meh legs, with his arms by his side. Anyhow so that he can't get away.  Because clearly I have nothing to do.  Then to get me more vex I realize but wait, he standing in one spot, I holding him there, he bawling WHILE he watching America's Next Top Model.   I could barely hear Tyra Banks but he well watching the show and making sure to keep up the noise and the struggle. Buhwhade...steups. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He finish that cry in his bed, and fall asleep sitting down because it would have been against his principles to actually lie down like i said and sleep. So he sit down and sleep instead. 3 yrs old.  Imagine if he was a girl what I would have to deal with when she becomes an obstinate teenager.  Thank God for small mercies?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-6994342626790963691?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/6994342626790963691/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=6994342626790963691&amp;isPopup=true' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6994342626790963691'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6994342626790963691'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/sharing-is-caringor-fighting.html' title='Sharing is Caring...or fighting'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-1726004902355637199</id><published>2007-03-14T22:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T11:11:29.823-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Karma</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1WeDn0G4I/AAAAAAAAABk/YJB6lOFcmO4/s1600-h/stewie.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1WeDn0G4I/AAAAAAAAABk/YJB6lOFcmO4/s320/stewie.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043282232093186946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I don't know how many people have seen Family Guy but I swear my son must have seen it sometime and is slowly plotting to take over the world...or the house or...Man I just know he has some inner dialogue going on in his head and its in a perfect English accent too, well sometimes its perfect Trini dialect but I just know!   I know that when I ask him what he's doing and he says 'Nothing mummy' what he's really saying is 'Lady gimme a chance nah man'.  When he asks ppl 'Whatchoo doinnn?' in that singsong voice, what he's really saying is ' Listen up, log your actions, put it in a document, I will be collecting said document at noon, I need to learn the procedure for boiling an egg, its part of my Master Plan'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I know that damn day in the grocery when he made me cry, it was a test!  He plan dat, he say the next time this lady take me in dat grocery she will get it!  He say is every week she taking me to dat place and is only snacks all over and I leaving empty handed. He say NAH MAN...dat done today!  We gone in Tru Valu normal normal, he ask for one ting I say you can have that when we get home. FAIL part one of the test.  And this is in the days when he  wasn't really understanding no and patience and waiting and the idea that something will still exist after you can't see it anymore.   He ask for something else, I say no.   Flat no. In his head he say 'But she maaaad?!'  I think musse 6 requests down the line he start to real screw. And mind you I don't spend any setta time in the grocery either eh, I in and out.  So this is about 15 minutes into the trip, this is in the evening after work too eh so all I really want to do is get home. I say ok ok he getting antsy let me get up outta here!  We reach by the cashier, I say 'Ahhhh nice man, home free, ching ching, we will cash in 5 minutes, in the car, straight home, he could get what he want lesson learned'. Yeah right!  He say *in his head of course* 'One more, she getting one more chance.one.more.chance'...Mummy can I have this sausage?  He ain't ask for some snack yuh know. he ask for a can ah sausage! How i supposed to say yes to that man?  Steups.&lt;br /&gt;Me: No.&lt;br /&gt;Him: bwahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boy throw himself on the ground, he start to roll, he pelt himself so, he fling way so.   And all I studying is that I must cash my groceries because we have no bread home.  Shame.  Shame. You know those children you see in the grocery and you want to tap dem in their head?  That was my child...I was mortified.   This is not happening to me.  You always think that will not happen to you, you notice the people who don't have children because they thinking oh they coulda handle that child. The cashiers watching me like 'uhhm hmmm, no behavior, why she doh handle dat'.  The old lady who compliment me 5 minutes before on how well behaved my son was like she in shock. She talking to him trying to calm him down, he liking dat...he bawling more.  All this time he tinking 'And ah ask yuh for de corn curls? And ah ask yuh for de orchard? And yuh say no ent? ENT!?'  I rest two tap on him to show de cashiers I am not one of those mummys who scared of my child.   Steups, he shoulda just tap me back because that is how I was feeling.   I say ok, either i ignore him, cash my groceries and never come back to this grocery again, leave him here and pretend I never saw him  and don't know him and maybe come back for him later when he learn to appreciate me, take him outside and try to have a chat with him *chat = tap*, forget the groceries, forget the chat and just leave. I chose to go outside and have the chat. Nothing. More madness, by this time I on the verge of tears but I need the groceries today.  Best believe I drag him back in there, pay for the groceries with all the stares and he still fighting up. I have no idea how I did it, I think I was holding him over my shoulder or something like a sack of flour while trying to balance my purse and the bags and his squirming and bawling.  We made it to the car, that was a task in itself too because he fighting, both of us sweating, by this time I full out crying I am so ashamed. Some lady make out the scene in the car park and talking about poor ting (refering to him) I almost run my car over her with that one.  As much as I love dat child I wanted nothing to do with him at that point. I couldn't even watch him.  Call his Daddy one time, offload him by Daddy meeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You believe that child come home, his father said he had something to tell me and when he watch me I swear he roll his eyes and said *in his head*  'Never mind, I have nothing to say to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;her&lt;/span&gt;!' He re.fuse. to talk to me.  He stand in the corner for a good while.  He say he know he behave bad but he not going to tell Mummy sorry.   Yuh know what is the worse part?I  see me written all over that child that day. I remember one time my father tried to get me to tell my step mother sorry and I tell him no.  Days I take the punishment until they just accepted that they were  not getting a sorry.  They say yuh does pay for your bad behavior ent?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BTW that was the first and last time that happened.  I didn't take him to the grocery with me for a good 2/3 months and he liked the grocery.  Now he is the best behaved little man in the grocery, he understands no, he will walk around with his snack the whole time in his hand and hand it to the cashier himself.  To this day I not too sure how his plans for world domination going and I pretty much think I failed the grocery test.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-1726004902355637199?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/1726004902355637199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=1726004902355637199&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/1726004902355637199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/1726004902355637199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/karma.html' title='Karma'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1WeDn0G4I/AAAAAAAAABk/YJB6lOFcmO4/s72-c/stewie.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-6094341880315237246</id><published>2007-03-14T14:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T14:26:32.280-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking the bull by the horns</title><content type='html'>Nice chile cousin asked his mother this week if she knew what b*ll*ng meant :O&lt;br /&gt;Trinis should be able to figure that one out, foreigners, choose some vowels...fend fuh yuhself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But my word!! I guess we all were exposed to dirty things in primary school right? But to hear that out your 8yr old mouth. She wanted to d.i.e. And he doesn't attend any old primary school either eh.   So if that is what the little boys in that school talking about, imagine what they talking about in the other schools. Lordhaveismercy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-6094341880315237246?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/6094341880315237246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=6094341880315237246&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6094341880315237246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6094341880315237246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/taking-bull-by-horns.html' title='Taking the bull by the horns'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-8273575282855867664</id><published>2007-03-14T14:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T14:18:58.696-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Robin Hood...stealing from the...poor?</title><content type='html'>One day a month or so ago i had to teach my child that he shouldn't steal from the poor. I minding my own business sleeping.  I see a little face in my face right up under the bed. 'Mummy you sleeping or you wake up?'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: sleeping.&lt;br /&gt;Him:Ok!&lt;br /&gt;Him:Mummy you have monies in your purse? *my purse is sitting right there on the bed as well*&lt;br /&gt;Me: Yeah *sleep sleep*&lt;br /&gt;Him: Can i see eht? *because he has to see everything and everything is an it*&lt;br /&gt;Me: yeah yeah yeahhhhh&lt;br /&gt;Him: ok! *Pause* Can I have eht?  Can i save eht?&lt;br /&gt;Me: yeah yeah yeahhhhhh&lt;br /&gt;Him:Ok!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there was silence. Why? Because he proceeded to make multiple trips from my purse to his piggy bank. Where he placed all MY money.&lt;br /&gt;  Technically he didn't steal it, because he asked right? And he did want to save it. Its not like he wanted to go buy that new pair of sneakers that came out.  But really...that was stealing from the poor man!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-8273575282855867664?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/8273575282855867664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=8273575282855867664&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8273575282855867664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/8273575282855867664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/robin-hoodstealing-from-thepoor.html' title='Robin Hood...stealing from the...poor?'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-6949579434908037381</id><published>2007-03-14T13:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-18T11:14:30.982-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tv'/><title type='text'>Ya Regresa...</title><content type='html'>This post is dedicated to all the shows we watch on the tube.  See I know as  a mummy I'm supposed to love all these characters on TV, they're cute right? No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So first off Spanish lessons start on channel 41. This Channel is probably known as Discovery Kids in all English speaking countries, in Trinidad its known as Deescobery Keeds (stress on the 'co').  Here we have shows like Barney y sus Amigos and Jim de La Luna.  Mind you, the show itself is in English, all the ads for the shows are in espanol.  We get 'Ya regresa, Barney y sus amigos!'. Of course nice chile know it in Spanish.  Lets talk about these shows shall we:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Caillou pronounced Cahyou (animated)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1Sdzn0GwI/AAAAAAAAAAk/NJ6skKu5kaI/s1600-h/caillou.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1Sdzn0GwI/AAAAAAAAAAk/NJ6skKu5kaI/s320/caillou.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043277829751708418" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I don't know why his parents gave him that name, it sounds like food.   He has a big head and he's really whiny. The story books we have on Callilou are always something Callilou's afraid of...the dark, monsters etc. I have another word to use for whiny but since I'm trying to keep this blog readable by all we will use the nicer word.  I'm not sure if I want a child like Callilou.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jim De La Luna(puppets/animated??)&lt;/span&gt;, I mean Jim of the Moon...actually i have no idea what is the english name for this show, it name Jim de la luna to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1Swjn0GxI/AAAAAAAAAAs/PjpQ_DBhDKI/s1600-h/jim_de_la_luna.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1Swjn0GxI/AAAAAAAAAAs/PjpQ_DBhDKI/s320/jim_de_la_luna.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043278151874255634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;He is some man who lives in a space station on the moon with his friends and they have adventures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Pinky Dinky Doo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1Tozn0GyI/AAAAAAAAAA0/kQM6ANfIlRI/s1600-h/PINKYDINKYDOO.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1Tozn0GyI/AAAAAAAAAA0/kQM6ANfIlRI/s320/PINKYDINKYDOO.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043279118241897250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Pinky climbs into a big box and makes up stories for her little brother. I like Pinky, she's pink. She also finds a 'big' word every day and creates a story around the word.  So one day she made up a story on what 'unflappable' means. I like that. And the song is cute too...'Pinky's really good at making up stories and every story rocks!'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Barney (big purple puppet thing)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I refuse to watch this. Barney is annoying. *ok ok Iwatch it sometimes, barney paints and makes puppet animals out of brown paper bags, thats cool stuff I guess*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Lazy Town(real grown ppl with puppets)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1RXDn0GtI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-uUnaMq-yFA/s1600-h/lazytown-4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1RXDn0GtI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-uUnaMq-yFA/s320/lazytown-4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043276614275963602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;One time I told JD that grampa went in 'town' he ask me if grampa went to 'Lazy town'. I wanted to say 'he may as well' but i said no Port of Spain.&lt;br /&gt;Lazy town is about this little girl who moves to lazy town where all the children eat snacks all day and they're lazy. There is this evil man who tries to perpetuate the laziness then there is Sporticus, some kinda super hero guy who comes from outta space and always excercising. I think Sporticus is gay, which is fine and all. This show taught my child how to do one arm push ups and crunches. He's very good, better than I am...lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pokoyo (animated)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pokoyo is a little boy who doesn't speak. He has a friend who's an elephant who doesn't speak either. The only person who speaks is the narrator who tells us everything Pokoyo is doing and asks the viewer questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Backyardigans (animated)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1TzDn0GzI/AAAAAAAAAA8/b5N8lDNda3g/s1600-h/backardigans.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1TzDn0GzI/AAAAAAAAAA8/b5N8lDNda3g/s320/backardigans.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043279294335556402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one is about 4/5 animals, a hippo a penguin and some others with names like Natasha and Ethan. So i'm guessing each animal is supposed to be a specific race. They live in houses like all regular animals do (?) and have families, the show is about when they go in the yard to play and the stories they make up. The theme song for this one is really catchy but can get annoying if you have a really bad headache.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't remember anything else from Discobery Keeds but I'll add them if i do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other thing we watch are videotapes...yes I know its 2007.  I dug up some tapes and dusted off a vcr and pull out &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;The Wiggles&lt;/span&gt; video.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1UADn0G0I/AAAAAAAAABE/r0KZvziwmbw/s1600-h/the-wiggles_wiggles__tickets_1528487.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1UADn0G0I/AAAAAAAAABE/r0KZvziwmbw/s320/the-wiggles_wiggles__tickets_1528487.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043279517673855810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It was meant to give him something to do while I worked. The first time it worked. The second time it worked even better, the third time he wanted me to dance and sing the 'sound'.  Now I am looking for a place to hide the Wiggles video tape because I have to dance and sing every song. I have to dance to the pony 'sound' and the Captain FeatherSword 'sound'. I have to dance and make all the animal sounds.  I no longer like the Wiggles.  The wiggles also introduced some new behavior. So this past weekend he called me from his father's, however my son was not on the other line, there was a ducky there. And this ducky could only speak in duck. So the ducky said 'quack, hello, quack'. When i asked what you doing he said 'Quack, nothing, quack'. Then his father in an attempt to convince me that he had nothing to do with it went on to explain to me that he was forced to read a story in ducky.  Clearly your 3yr old put a water gun to your head and forced you to read the story in ducky right?  So we know who encourage that one right there.  Apparently Snoop Dog appeared on the Wiggles one time as well because Jades told me he was a parrot (he meant to say pirate but they mean the same to him) and that he was going to look for a treasizzle, which was either a cross between a puzzle and a treasure OR he was hanging with Snoop D. O double Gizzle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-6949579434908037381?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/6949579434908037381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=6949579434908037381&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6949579434908037381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6949579434908037381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/ya-regresa.html' title='Ya Regresa...'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/Rf1Sdzn0GwI/AAAAAAAAAAk/NJ6skKu5kaI/s72-c/caillou.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-6137050065576625064</id><published>2007-03-14T12:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T13:29:05.180-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mammy Nice Chile cousin</title><content type='html'>At times I will write about Mammy Nice Chile Cousin...Let's call Mammy Nice Chile 'JD' and his cousin 'En'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See En is a character all his own. My boy En told his mother one time that maybe his pencil got legs and walked away. And he said this with a straight face.  He went to school the next day with no pencil by the way. En has also come home with no shirt, one side of shoe and well, no homework is normal. Needless to say he went to school the days after as well with one side of shoe and one sock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En calls his mother 'Mother' as in 'Yes Mother, I'm coming'. En is 8 years old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;JD and En are as close as brothers can be. They share a room, they share everything...great.  Dey &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;always &lt;/span&gt; fighting. There was a time when En used to cry when JD did him things, like hit him in his head with a cd case.  Then JD realized , 'hey this crying thing gets me hugs. &lt;span&gt;Methinks it is time for me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;to &lt;/span&gt;cry instead'. So now JD cries when he is slighted and En, oh En realized if he did JD things under low, he wins. He's older anyway so JD listens to everything he says.  So they fight and fight and fight then there is silence, because why? They sitting somewhere hugging each other up watching tv.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-6137050065576625064?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/6137050065576625064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=6137050065576625064&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6137050065576625064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/6137050065576625064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/mammy-nice-chile-cousin.html' title='Mammy Nice Chile cousin'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-902833867678763753.post-3745899717690457889</id><published>2007-03-14T11:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T12:07:36.481-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mammy Nice Chile</title><content type='html'>Since my friend Jumbie cannot be found to provide the correct meaning of Mammy Nice Chile, allow me to attempt to explain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Mammy Nice Chile (pronounced Mahmee Nice Chyle) : The chile mummy love de most. The chile  mummy gives everything to if they come with the mammy nice chile voice. The chile who gets the most love up and hug up and squeeze up.   When you have only one, this one is automatically mammynicechile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my house this child is also known as Daddy Nice Chile, Granma Nice Chile, Granpa Nice Chile, Grandad Nice Chile, Aunty Nice Chile. You name it, when he come with the sweet voice...he is the nice chile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;NOT Mammy Nice Chile&lt;/span&gt;: Strangely enough, this is the same child!  This is Mammy Nice Chile at his worst.  This is when Mammy Nice Chile becomes 'Monkey know what tree to climb'. This is mammy nice child when he pelting himself on the floor and rolling, bawling. Mammy nice child when English means nothing and you think you have to attempt to learn Italian to make him understand and listen to what you saying.  Mammy nice chile in the grocery with two ah allyuh crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Child...mammynicechile and Notmammynicechile.  This is my attempt to chronicle all that Dis Child says and does to me, himself and others.  Sometimes its frustrating, most times its funny but at the end of the day he always remains mammynicechile.  Check de picture...too sweet ent...let me tell you...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/902833867678763753-3745899717690457889?l=mammynicechile.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/feeds/3745899717690457889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=902833867678763753&amp;postID=3745899717690457889&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3745899717690457889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/902833867678763753/posts/default/3745899717690457889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mammynicechile.blogspot.com/2007/03/mammy-nice-chile.html' title='Mammy Nice Chile'/><author><name>Skettleton</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp2.blogger.com/_m3dkjbfgKes/SEvw7DFxgCI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1t3iosqYxUQ/S220/lips2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
