Hidden Mickeys and Allergic Reactions

Hello Readers -

It has been a few days, and I've been compiling a list of things to blog about.  I have several, so let's just jump right in, shall we?

1. Let's discuss my outing today.  Today, I took C3 to Home Depot, Babies R Us, and JoAnn Fabric.  I decided that they needed to learn (C&C, that is) how to walk around a store, and proper ettiquite.  They were SO amazingly good, it was astonishing.  They looked around, and did touch stuff at the stores, but when I asked them to keep walking or put something back, they did without incident, and they were pleasant and polite to others!  We still need to work on them realizing other people are out, too, and they can't just stop in the middle of the aisle, but for a first time out, it was completely successful!  I was proud!

During this outing, though, a few non-C-related things happened I will share.

First, the woman at JoAnn who cut my ribbons was an older lady named "Maud."  I shouldn't even have had to look at her nametag.  There was something so strikingly stereotypical about an older lady working the fabric section of JoAnn with the name Maud.  Loved it.  She was sweet.

The cashier, on the other hand, was the second person today to kind of piss me off.

Now, I know my kids are big.  Chris and Connor esp.  I know that when people look at Connor and find out his age, they're surprised.  But I'm getting a little tired of people being like, "Oh my, what a big baby!"  I get it.  He's big. How about focusing on his giant smile, or his bright blue eyes instead of his body?  

The first time today I got comments was at Babies R Us.  The cashier there was an older lady (because I think they think they can just say ANYTHING).  She said,

"Let me guess, they're 1, 2, and 3 years old?" 

I smiled politely.

"Nope, they're twins and they're 2, and he is 8 months old."  

She leans in to study Connor.

"Nooo!" she proclaims, as if I'm already lying about his age.  "He's a BIG one!"

I laugh politely as I usually do.

"Yup, he's tall."

"Wow!"

"Yup."

<insert more comments about his size>  

Eventually it subsided, and we left.  Sigh.

At JoAnn, the cashier got a little more personal.  Again, an older lady.

"Are they twins?"

"Yes."

"2?"

"Yes."

"And this one is…what, 15 months?"

<Let's ignore the fact that that would mean I would have had to get pregnant with Connor IMMEDIATELY.  Like, the day I left the hospital.  Not that it would have been impossible, but c'mon, does Connor REALLY look 15 months old???  No.>

"Ah, no, he just turned 8 months."

"No way!"

"Yup."

"Was he breastfed?  Because I find that breastfed babies are chubbier."

"Nope, not at all."

<Then she delves into a diatribe about HER daughter's 3 kids and how the boys were nursed and were so much bigger than the girl who wasn't nursed as long because of some medical complications.>

"Well," I said, pointing to Courtney.  "She's pretty tiny, and they were all fed the same stuff, so…"

<insert more amazement at Connor's size/age, polite smiles from me, and then we left>

I usually don't mind people asking questions - I STILL get asked if C&C are identical or not (Um, one has a PENIS, people…what do YOU think?) and that's fine.  I know seeing me out with 3 little ones draws attention - and it really, REALLY does.  We draw attention EVERYWHERE we go - are we really that much of a circus sideshow?  I wouldn't think so.  It's endearing, and I don't mind feeling a bit special, but every once in a while, I would like people to STOP marveling over my family.  ("Wow!  You're brave having them so close together!"  "I would NEVER have had more after MY twins, they terrified me!"  "You're a saint!" [really? not even close])  Thank goodness that usually the women end their ramblings with a "they're precious, though!" or "how CUTE!" so I don't feel like such a freak.

Only my friend Sarah who's singleton and twins are even closer together than mine really gets this, I think.  But I don't know.  Anyone else get treated like a leper when you go out?

And while we're talking about that, I love to point out to Jason that when he takes the twins out, or Connor alone, he gets ALL KINDS of attention from women fawning all over him, but at Home Depot today, several ruggedly handsome guys practically ran down the aisle away from me.  Okay, not entirely true.  They smiled at the kids, but I could hear their brains thinking, "Thank GOD those aren't MY kids."

<sigh>

Okay, I'm frazzled now.  What number are we one?  2? Alright.

Here's a funny, quick anecdote.  Last night, after dinner, Courtney and Connor were playing behind the couch, and all I could hear was Courtney telling Connor what to do (ahh, such foreshadowing…).  Next thing I know, I hear her shout, "C'mon, boy, let's go!"  I don't know where she wanted him to go, but I laughed at how she said it.  That girl.

3. Every once in a while, Chris pitches a fit when I try to change his diaper.  Usually it's when he's dirty.  Now, Courtney, she'll tell you she's dirty.  She'll proudly march right up to you and say, "I pooped."  Chris you could smell from across the room, and when confronted with a, "Chris, did you poop?" he'll ALWAYS reply, "No."  

So, he's been fighting me lately on the changing table. This does not make this unpleasant process ANY prettier.  I'm trying to hold his ankles with my left hand while trying to wipe him with the right, all the while, he's whining and screaming, and squirming left and right, occasionally arching his back and going completely stiff.  It's not easy, and the boy is STRONG.  

Our pediatrician (whom I otherwise ADORE, don't get me wrong) suggested that we learn how to change their diapers with them standing upright.  Okay, has anyone ever tried this?  It is H-A-R-D.  It is, in NO WAY, easier than battling a squirming child who is millimeters away from smushing his feet in his own poop.

This is a skill I will never master.  I will stick to battling Chris to change him the normal way, and not worry about trying to defy gravity and change him vertically.  Not. Going. To. Happen.

Another note about changing boys, because it really does take twice as long as changing girls - what is their obsession with their junk?!  I'm constantly swatting their hands away so that they don't get them dirty.  OBNOX.  And, I know it doesn't change when they get older.  Chris was playing with himself in the utero - we saw it at a sonogram.  

On to number 4.  So, because they were so amazing on our outing this morning, I got the kids Happy Meals for lunch.  I forgot to ask for apples instead of fries (judge me, i don't care) and so the kids were ELATED.  The funny part happened at the end of the meal when they took their now-empty fry bags and put them on their hands.  I hear them repeating, "Dog poop.  Dog poop."

I look at them confused.  "Did you just say, 'dog poop'?"  Chris nods, and says it again.  Then I understand. 

See, Hubs uses the clear newspaper bags as poop bags on walks, and to do so, he pulls the bag over his hand, picks up the excrement, and then pulls his arm through, trapping the stuff inside the bag.  The kids have obviously seen him do this, and thought they'd pretend their fry bags were being used to pick up poop.

Lovely.

Here are pics of them using their fry bags as dog poop bags:

Kids really do say the darnedest things.

5.  We're on 5, right?  Yeah. 

Dinner last night.  I made a new whole wheat Chicken Helper we'd never had before.  It was Lemon and Herb, and it looked good on the box.  After I got it home and studied the directions, I knew I was going to make a damn mess out of what should have been an easy dinner.

Per the usual, my meal ended up more liquidy than desired, but regardless, we ate it.  It was okay - not terrific, but edible.  I also made salads with Italian dressing for everyone.  This is not new - we've all had Italian dressing before.

Maybe it was that I used Wish Bone instead of Kraft.  Maybe it was the Chicken Helper (that neither kid ate, btw.  At least, I didn't see either one eat it.)  Either way, the next thing we knew, we look over and Chris' face looked like this:

Allergic reaction, we're thinking.  To what?  We have no clue.  That makes it worse.  I immediately check his entire body to make sure he wasn't breaking into hives.  And, when he scratched his neck a few moments later, I was sure he was trying to tell me his throat was closing.  (It wasn't.)  It seemed to be a contact-reaction. No where else developed the red blotchiness.  I broke out the children's Benadryl and dispensed it.  I watched him like a freaking hawk for about 15 minutes, knowing full well that if he was going into anaphylactic shock, it would have happened almost immediately (I think?  I should probably know.  I DO have an Epipen...).  By about 20 minutes later, it had gone away.  I was completely relieved.  What was it?  No clue.  But you can bet your bippy we will test the salad dressing again another night to see if it happens again, and I will not buy that not-so-good-anyway Chicken Helper.  

PS, it NEVER bothered him.  He never itched, or complained, or even whined.  You'll notice, he's even smiling in the above picture and saying "Cheeeeeese."  He was probably just wondering why Mommy and Daddy were arguing over dosing amounts, and Mommy kept pulling his shirt up.

Moving on.

Number 6 is one of my personal favorites.  It took place yesterday at lunch.  Yes, I'm jumping around, and I don't care.  Keep up, people.

Chris is OBSESSED with blueberries.  He would eat them 24/7 if I allowed him.  Every time he asks for "More more blueberries pleeeeeeeeeease," all I hear in my head is the line from Willy Wonka when Mr. Beauregarde says, "I've got a blueberry for a daughter."  Except in this case, it's my son (Obv.).

Anyway, I digress.  At lunch, they were enjoying blueberries, when Chris starts shouting, "Bickey Mouse!  Bickey Mouse!" and pointing at his plate. <No, I don't KNOW why he can say the "M" in Minnie, and Mouse, but NOT in Mickey.> I lean over and I see what he's pointing at on his plate:

When he looked at his plate, he did, indeed, see Bickey Mouse.  A HIDDEN Bickey Mouse.  If you can't see it, you're not a real Disney fan.

Does it surprise ANYONE that my kids can pick out a hidden Mickey in their food? It shouldn't.

Alright, that about does it for me.  Just another day in the life.  I will leave you with a picture of what I found Courtney had done the other day when I left the room for 2 seconds to mix a bottle for Connor (note to reader: I didn't even really leave the room - there's a cut out from the kitchen to the living room):

This is called "emptying the stuffed animal box in 10 seconds."  

Where is Thumbkin? Where is Thumbkin? Here I am! Here I am!

Hello Readers!

Today I plan to entertain you with several anecdotes about my Hoffspring.  Most of them are Courtney-centric, let's be honest.  That girl is a one-woman show, I'm telling you!

I'll begin with Hide and Seek.  So, I'm not sure where they learned how to play H&S.  I know there is an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse where they're all trying to find Donald, but until the other day, I had never seen them show interest.

Now my day consists of one of them running over to me and commanding, "Count, Mommy."  I close my eyes and count slowly to 5 (because, let's face it, they're not going to hide that well, and counting any higher will just prolong their impatience…) Usually, whilst my eyes are closed, I can hear them slapping their feet in the kitchen, or leaping into the tarp-bottomed play tent.  Meaning - their hiding is so obvious, that it could NOT be any cuter.  

At least they're actually hiding now.  Until Jason and I showed them what hiding was, they'd stand behind something that was shorter than them…i.e. they were uncovered from the waist up.  But I digress.

Let's go back to me counting to 5.  All the rustling has stopped and I pretend to look for them, loudly saying, "Are they under the pillows?  Nooooooo.  Are they on the bookcase?  Nooooooo."  The first few times, they were legitimately surprised when I'd jump out at them and find them in their 'hiding spots.'  Nine times out of ten, Courtney would get too excited to be found and come bounding out from her spot before I could get there.  

THEN, the game evolved.  When I would say, "Are they in the kitchen?" before I could say "Noooooo," I would hear a little voice from her hiding spot go, "Nooooooo."  

So, so cute.  The best part is when they play alone - Earlier today, we were upstairs and Courtney and I were in Connor's room.  I noticed Courtney slide behind the curtain, and heard from the other room Chris counting.  I hear: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13…13…13..13…*he always gets stuck here*  Ready not come!"  And then his little body running from room to room going, "Sissy?  Where are you? Sissy?"  So freaking cute.

(You may be wondering why Chris gets stuck on 13 - I actually know this!  We have 13 steps from the bottom level of the house to the second level, and from the second level to the third.  We count the steps when we climb up or down, hence his ability to count to, but not past, 13.)

The second hilarious thing I want to share from today happened at lunch.  Now, Courtney is ALWAYS making noise - talking, singing, whatever.  She just LOVES the sound of her own voice.  (I don't know WHERE she got that...*looks away, whistling*) Today, she was singing, making up her own tune.  Normally, someone doing that would probably be like, "La la la la," etc. right?  That's what I would do, anyway.  Not my daughter, no.  MY daughter sat there singing, "Booby booby booooooo booby booby booby…"

Yes.  Booby.  

A word she's never heard (at least to my knowledge).  I know to her, she was just making sounds, but to Jason and I, who exchanged amused looks over her head, it was HILARIOUS.  

FYI - Her 'Booby Song' made an appearance a few more times today after that.

My final Courtney story from today involves a toy motorcycle we have.  It's not huge - it's chunky, but small.  Anyway, Courtney picked up the toy and the rest of the conversation went like this:

"Dumbcock!" she exclaimed <her word for dump truck…I know, I know…> 

"Well, it's not a dump truck, it's a motorcycle," I clarified.

"Motocycle."

"Right."  She thought for a minute.

"I ride motocycle," she proclaims.  

"You want to ride the motorcycle?" I ask.  She nods, grinning.  Under my breath I say, "I have no doubts that someday you WILL ride a motorcycle."

With that, the girl climbs on top of the toy, and this is what I see:

I fell out.  Then I, of course, made her pose for a picture.  Ai yi yi.  That girl!

<sigh> My kids.  Love'em.

Moving on to that nasty biotch (that my computer autocorrected to 'biotech,' btw) Irene.  I hope that all who reads this is fine - I assume you are.  Maybe you lost some power, or had a few limbs fall, but nothing too terrible.  We really got nothing.  But I did see something cool today when we walked the golf course after dinner.  There were limbs and a few trees down blocking the path we were on, but then I paid attention to some of the sticks. I saw this:

If you cannot tell, this stick is stuck directly into the ground and is standing completely vertical.  There were tons like this.  I thought it was kind of neat - it meant the wind was so strong, they were launched directly into the ground!  Nothing big, I just thought it was interesting.

I will end this blog with a pic I caught of all 3 kids looking the same direction - this NEVER happens!  HOW did I capture this adorableness, you ask?  

Well, the kids have this Dora book (I HATE Dora, btw...topic for another day...) and it has a small piano they can hit keys on and make music.  One of the songs it plays is Frere Jacques.  So, Chris hits the key and I began singing, 

"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, Dormez vous? Dormez vous? Sonnez les matines, Sonnez les matines. Ding Ding Dong, Ding Ding Dong"

All 3 kids stop what they're doing and look at me like I have 2039584893275 heads.  Yes, I was singing in French, and yes, they hadn't heard it before.  But it wasn't until later that I realized why they looked so confused - later in the day, I caught them playing the song again, but doing hand motions - and it hit me - that's the same tune as "Where is Thumbkin?"  Mystery solved.   Thank goodness I was already taking pictures and was able to capture their wonderment/confusion!  

<sigh>

Until next time, Readers!  Goodnight!

Dinosaur Vs. The Potty

Dear Readers -

Today I am just going to let my stream of consciousness flow.

I would first like to share a hilarious story from bath time the other night.  

Let me set the scene: we had gone to Costco for dinner that night (to shop, mostly, but where else can you feed 4 people for like, $5.50?) and the kids had had hotdogs.  Now, usually these hotdogs 'stay with us' for hours, if you know what I mean - the burps themselves are a constant and disgusting reminder that they ate them.  

But I digress.  We return home and are playing in the living room, when I smell said burp and go, "Eww!  Hotdog burp!" Chris grins.  I say, "Say excuse me" to which he mumbles something that sounds like "sue me" and we continue on with our activities.  

An hour or so later, I'm bathing C&C, and again, a familiar and nauseating smell wafts past my nose.  Before I can even call anyone out, Courtney goes, "Hotdog!"  Shocked, I say, "Did you just burp hotdog?" and, with a devilish grin that ONLY she can give, she replies, "Yeahhhhhh, I did."

I cracked up.  Gross, but hilarious.  Love my kids!

So, has anyone else with several kids (I can say 'several,' right?  I mean, once you pass '2' it's considered 'several'…) find themselves during the day periodically doing a 'head count'?  I flash forward to when I can just yell "COUNT OFF!" and hear them shouting out their respective birth order so that Mommy knows everyone is conscious and not on fire.

Speaking of several kids, I will replay a conversation Jason and I had the other day about having more kids.  (I would, he's still on the fence)

"Just one more?" I say, my best "puh-leeeeeeease" face on.  

Jason, with increasing intensity replies:

"You say that now, but I'm afraid that you'll have 4, and want more, then have 5 and want more, then 6, then 7, then 8, and then we'll be the Duggars and I'll be flat broke!"

I cracked up again.  See, no one thinks Jason is funny, but I think he's friggin' hilarious!  Haha, my autocorrect just changed 'friggin to 'frigid.'

Moving on.

So, the idea of Borders closing hurts my heart, mainly because I could spend hours in a bookstore, wandering around.  Now, what bugs me about their going-out-of-business "sale" is that the percentage off is still not necessarily making the books any cheaper than they would be on Amazon anyway.  Nonetheless, I have gone over to Borders several times just to walk around, and still find myself purchasing things.  

One of my favorite purchases came yesterday when I bought a kids book based solely on the title and cover, and not based on its story.  Now, it's not hard to figure out the plot line from the title, but still, usually you flip through the book and THEN purchase it.  i didn't bother - I loved it immediately.

This book is sure to become a Hoffman Family classic.  Can't wait!

Yesterday afternoon, after naptime, I went up to get C&C, who were making "Mommy, I'm awake, come get me!" noises.  I did my usual, "Fee, fi, foe, fum!" approach to their door, and knocked, waiting for their reply.  Everyone was giggles and smiles until I took them out of their crib, at which point, when I asked, "OKay, are we ready to go downstairs and see Connor?" Chris replies, "No." 

It was then that I sighed, having been here before, knowing it was about to be a very challenging next few minutes.  

"Chris, you don't want to go downstairs and see Connor?"

"No."

"Do you want to stay here in your crib?"

"No."

"Do you want to get num-nums?" (usually food is a fool-proof bribe)

"No."

So I play the reverse psychology card.

"Okay, Courtney, let's go.  Chris wants to stay here."  I lead a bubbly Courtney down the hall to the stairs.  Then Chris begins to cry from his room.

"Chris!" I call.  "C'mon baby!  Let's go downstairs!"

I hear a meek, tiny "No" followed by more tears.

I sigh again.

By now, Courtney has handed me the members of her entourage she cannot carry while holding the railing (I, as instructed, always carry Oso, Seahorse, and Baby Doll down, she always carries Minnie Mouse) and we descend.  I get Courtney down and settled, and say, "I need to go get brother."  She nods.

So I go up and into his room, he's standing next to his crib, thumb in mouth.

"Chris, are you ready to come downstairs?"

"No."

"Do you want to stay up here in your crib?"

<pause>

"Okay."

So, I oblige, and put him back in his crib.  I know this will blow up in my face.

Sure as sugar, as soon as I said, "bye bye" and closed his door, the screaming began.  It was hard to tell, because of the pitch and volume of the screaming, if he was mumbling "num num" or "night night"…either way, I let him fit for a couple of minutes, then I opened the door.

"Are you ready to come downstairs and act like a big boy?"

"NO!"

So I closed the door.  Screaming commenced.  This back and forth happened about 3 more times, then I finally just turned the monitor on in the hall and went downstairs where my darling, quiet children were playing.  Through the monitor, though, we could hear the screaming.  Courtney, who is oh-so in tune to other's emotions looked concerned.

"Bruva crying," she pointed out.  I nodded.

"Yes, Brother is upset."

<more crying>  Courtney loses interest in The Monitor Show and goes back to her animal crackers.  After a few moments, I hear her say,

"Relax, Bruva, give rest."  

Apparently, I often tell them to relax and give it a rest, though I've been more careful about using the 'give it a rest' since I learned she had picked it up as well.  I smiled to myself, then went up to deal with the Christopher Monster that was lurking in my upstairs.

After he realized that I was, in fact, going to leave him there if he said he wasn't ready to come down, he calmed and decided he could behave and was great the rest of the afternoon.  Time and time again my kids prove to me that one of the secrets of parenting (not really a secret…more like a 'no duh!' but many don't bother with it…) is that you just need to make sure you follow thru with your threats.  We have been doing this from the beginning and it seems like they're both beginning to make the connection that if we say X is going to happen if Y does not occur, it actually WILL happen.  

This is not reinventing the wheel - my point is, it's so interesting watching those connections developing in my kids.

So even though I heard her say it earlier in reference to her brother, it still surprised me later when I was annoyed over something small non-kid related, Courtney looked at me and said, "Mommy, relax."

Now, even though being told to relax is one of my pet peeves, I had to laugh, because she connected my expressions and body language enough to know that I was agitated, and appropriately reminded me to cool off and let it go.  Love my darling girl.

Now, while Chris had that little hissy after nap (and had had a similar one the previous night when we came in from outside playtime before bath), last night, Courtney was the one who, when asked to help clean up her toys so we could watch Kipper, said an emphatic "No."

Once again, Jason and I played the reverse psychology card that so often blows up in our faces.  

"Do you want to watch Kipper?" we asked, assuming the answer would be "yes" so we could say, "Then you need to clean up your books."  Of course, being the evil genius she is, Courtney replied "No."

So, Jason scooped her up.  "I guess Courtney's going to bed early then!" <her crying begins>  I say, "Night night, Courtney" and he whisks her upstairs.  

Chris, observes the whole thing.  He had been the center of such a conflict twice in two days now, and he looked determined not to be this time.  He looks at me.  

"Sissy crying.  Koffer clean up watch Kipper," he says cutely.  I loved that he made the connection. It was like he said to  me, "Mom, I understand that Courtney isn't behaving properly, but I'm going to help you clean up like you asked, and then I'll be able to watch Kipper."

So I told him I was proud of his choice to clean up and he was being such a good boy.  

Eventually, Courtney calmed down and helped and all was well at the Hoff Haus once again.

And such ends my ramblings about the day-to-day dramedy of my family!  

Ozzy...Adam Lambert...Christopher Hoffman???

Hello Readers -

Today I was faced with a challenge that all parents of boys AND girls must inevitably face at some point.  I am talking about gender roles.

At age 2, my kids obviously haven't developed an understanding of what is "socially acceptable" for boys vs. girls.  This is fine.  I have no problem with Chris stealing Courtney's tea set to host a tea party, nor do I have issue with Courtney racing cars around the living room going, "Vroom!"  

To me, these experiences shape and help my kids understand the world and I want to give them as much exposure to different things as possible.  I never want to pidgeon-hole them into liking something simply because it is acceptably "boy" or "girl," though I DO want to give them the opportunity to be "boyish" or "girlish" where appropriate.  If Courtney wants to play My Little Pony - fine!  If she wants to play cars, that's fine too.  And the same goes for Chris.

Today, Courtney wanted me to paint her toenails.  I have done this before, and Chris didn't care.  I cringed that first time, bracing for the forthcoming "Chris' turn!" that actually never came.  If he were to ask me to paint his toenails, do I do it?  Do I say, "Screw societal stereotypes, he's 2!  It's no big deal!" or do I try and explain that girls get their nails polished and boys don't, knowing full well that this is a lie.  I also fleeting, at the time, thought about what Hubs would say, coming home from work.  "WHY does my son have purple toes?!"

LIke I said, though, the demand for me to paint Chris' nails never came, and I secretly breathed out a little.  

And then today happened.

Chris not only wanted me to paint his toenails, but he also picked out a stunning teal green.  I was torn.  Do I paint them nor not?!

I consider myself an very liberal person in this area - if guys want to paint their nails, whatever.  And I know that me painting Chris' nails doesn't "make him gay" or whatever stupid thoughts people have.  Remember, I am the one who is constantly and sternly telling Hubs that no matter what, we love our kids and support them.  (He doesn't fight me on this, don't misunderstand me.  It's usually me declaring this, and him laughing at me.)

But back to my dilemma.  

I painted Courtney's toes a lovely deep purple with sparkles, and she was happy.

All the while, Chris was in my ear, repeating, "Koffer turn!  Koffer turn!" ("Christopher's turn…")  So when I finished her nails, I thought long and hard.  Then I tried to reason with Chris.

"What if we just do one nail?" 

He looked at me skeptically.  I chose the pinky nail (It IS the smallest) and went ahead and slapped a coat of teal on it.  Chris began to whine as I capped the nail polish bottle.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" I asked.  He managed to eek out,

"Other toes!"

I realized then I had no choice but to finish.  

"You want Mommy to paint all of your toes green?" I asked.  He shook his head.

"Purple!" he declared.  "Sissy!"

"You want them purple like Sissy's?"  He nods fervently.  

So, I take a deep breath and dive in.  I did it.  I painted all 10 of his toenails sparkly plum, just like Sissy's.  And he was ecstatic.

Yes, these are CHRIS' feet...

Seeing his happiness, I felt embarrassed by my pause.  It's NAIL POLISH, not a tattoo.  It comes off, and judging by how quickly Courtney's wore off last time, I REALLY have no need to worry.  I felt ashamed of myself for even worrying about it - he's TWO.  He hasn't even realized that his parts are different from his sisters.  

But you know what I learned about myself during this process?  That even if he was 15, and asked me paint his nails, I would do it. Because at the end of the day, I love him - no matter what color his toenails are.