A Day In the Life of Leo

This kid is a trip and a half.  I have taken to calling him “My Drunken Little Friend” lately because…well, read on.


Leo wakes up early and when I go into his room he tells me, “It’s mine burfday!” (He does this every day.) He adds, “It’s your burfday too, Mom!” We sing happy burfday to each other, just like we do every day.

Then Leo has to go to the bathroom and when I am not instantly there to turn the light on he throws his naked self onto the floor and lays there in the fetal position, ranting and railing, until I turn the light on. He pops up and cheerfully walks to the potty.

We go to the play kitchen set and make birthday cakes. When I ask him to put sprinkles on mine he sets the whole jar of sprinkles on my cake and says, “There you go, Mom.”

His brothers wake up and we make waffles.  Real ones, that is.

At 7:30AM Kevin comes home (from hot yoga) and Vincenzo asks why he’s home so early. I tell Vincenzo that maybe it’s not early—maybe he slept all day and Dad’s just coming home from work and the sky outside is actually getting darker outside, not lighter. Leo snaps to attention and says, “I’m not tired! It’s blue one! It’s blue sky!”

The waffles are ready. Leo brings me the exact cup he wants his milk in. I give him milk in that cup. He then gets a different cup and pours his milk into that to drink. He spills it all over the table, so I toss him a towel to clean it up. The towel lands on the ground. “Can’t reach it, Mom.” I tell him to pick it up. “Can’t pick it up, Mom.  I’m too strong.”

Rocco tells me his tummy hurts and I ask if it’s a need-to-go-to-bathroom hurt or an I’m-gonna-puke hurt. Leo yells, “Puke! I puke Rocco!”

During breakfast Rocco gets a time out for making Leo cry by repeatedly saying, “It’s everyone’s birthday.” He is issued a time out and has to wish Leo a happy birthday once he is out of time out.  On one hand it feels like the wrong thing to do, but on the other it makes perfect sense.

After breakfast Leo spies a bottle of wine I was given in a cloth wine bag. He mistakes it for a birthday present. We give him the bag (without the wine) and he fills it up with toys then says, “I’m weddy speech fuppy!” (He’s ready for speech therapy—we often bring toy bags with us.) I tell him great, we’ll leave in five hours.

After breakfast we go blackberry picking on the trail behind our house. Leo picks exactly two blackberries, eats them, and then retires from blackberry picking. He keeps asking me to fill up his container so he can eat them, saying, “More booberries please!” He insists on calling them blueberries all morning and laughs at us when we say, “They’re blackberries,” like he’s too clever to fall for that one.

At 10 we are back home and Leo has both hands in his hair, which is a definite sign he needs a nap.  He happily lies down in his crib and sleeps.

Later, on the way to “speech fuppy,” Rocco decides to quiz Leo to get him ready for his lesson.  “Leo,” he says, “Say twwwaaain.”  Leo says, “Twwwaaain.”  I remind myself to schedule another two years of speech fuppy for Leo.

As we pull into the driveway Leo throws his hands in the air and yells, “WE DID IT!!  WE DID IT, MOMMY!”  We all celebrate, even though we’re not exactly sure why.

At dinner the boys get to talking about Minecraft.  It goes like this with Leo:

Leo: I play Minefwaft.
Me: Minefaft.
Leo: Fwaft.
Me: Fwaft.
Leo: Fwaft
Me: Minefwaft.
Leo: Minefwaft!  Minefwaft!
Me: Minecraft.
Leo: Yeah.  Minefwaft.

After dinner Leo crawls onto my bed to read books with his brothers and his cheeks are all chimpunky so I say, “What do you have in there?”  He opens his mouth.  Inside is an entire, full-sized carrot, all chewed up.   Before I can even say “What’s up, Doc?” there is carrot juice all over Leo’s shirt, his hands, my pillow, our bed.  I make a mental note to flip my pillow upside down before going to bed.

After a few minutes Leo runs off saying, “I go potty!” and comes back a minute later saying, “I go standing up!”  I groan, then yell to Kevin, “Clean up, aisle bathroom!”

After story time Kevin tells the boys to put on shoes so they can go outside.  Leo puts his shoes on like this and insists he’s doing it right:


I go inside to get my bag of gym clothes.  When I come out, Vincenzo is hanging from a tree laughing at the place Rocco chose to go potty outside, which was on the Totem Pole; Rocco is pulling up his pants looking cross and hotly defending his decision; Leo is standing in the grass with his bare buns to the neighborhood, peeing outside because that’s what Rocco did; and Kevin is looking at me, shaking his head.

If when I get older I only remember one thing from my days of raising young children, I want it to be that exact scene.  I want it to be the last thing I see before I die.  I want to live in that moment of hilarity and seriousness sweet baby buns forever.

Anyway.  Leo.  My Little Drunken Friend.  It makes sense now, right?

2 thoughts on “A Day In the Life of Leo

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