<?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-1670907431349553900</id><updated>2011-07-07T18:09:36.701-07:00</updated><category term='speech'/><category term='sleep'/><category term='sick'/><category term='children'/><category term='funny'/><category term='superheroes'/><category term='cute'/><category term='Australia Day'/><category term='kids'/><category term='humor'/><title type='text'>cute, comic, crazy</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>30</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-1669943181686416255</id><published>2009-12-14T14:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T15:44:23.503-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A compilation..</title><content type='html'>The reason this blog has been so quiet is that for ages I've been sharing my kids' funny stuff as FB tweets. Here's what you missed, going back over more than a year and starting with the most recent...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh heard his 2yo telling fart jokes in his sleep.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh loves his son enough to fish a Sinestro Corps Power Ring out of an unflushed loo.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's candle-lit dinner with his wife was interrupted by a two year old voice saying "wow, fire!" and launching into "happy birthday to you".&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh was woken up approx. 3am two nights ago by his 4yo shouting in his sleep: "DUCK SEASON! FIRE!!"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 2yo saw an Emu in the wild yesterday, and commented "MEEP MEEP!"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 4yo was bitten by a great hairy spider this morning. No symptoms or super powers manifested so far.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh had one of those nights that lasted a hundred years. Kids cold, kids sick (X lots), kids with nightmares, kids that need drink, kids that need new roll of toilet paper, and a good dose of insomnia in the middle.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh just had to banish all imaginary crocodiles from a sleepy little boy's room.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh has a 2yo superhero who refuses to return to his secret identity.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh wishes he had seen his 4yo and 2yo sneak into the kitchen while mum's back was turned for an impromptu -and messy- egg and spoon race&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 2yo knows that nothing in the world is cooler than FLASHING BATMAN SHOES!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 2yo didn't want to eat his dinner, so he tried to put it in his tummy by dropping it down inside his shirt.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh first suspected his 2yo was playing with his food when the sound of a jet engine toy powering up came from inside his spaghetti.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh had to get up 3am yesterday to catch the flight to melbourne, after getting to bed at midnight. His youngest decided to make it 2am.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh is proud of his superhero boys swooping in to save their mum when she needs help.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh has found that the tension of Hide and Seek is really amped up when the kid who's "in" can only count to 4...&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh and his wife were going to spend the night packing for the moving truck tomorrow, but nooo, that would be too easy. So let's bump the number of sick kids up to three and throw in a late night emergency hospital dash!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's eldest is watching with delight as his fave book (charlie &amp;amp; the chocolate factory) comes to life before his very eyes...&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's two year old held out his hands for the kitchen tongs and asked "weapon?"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh had the boys all to himself yesterday, and hit a crisis: 3 boys, 2 capes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh reflects upon the humility of his boys' fave superheroes- the "Just us" League.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh managed to get his toddler to go to sleep WITHOUT the superman raincoat.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh took three angry, sad and/or crying boys, and sent them off to sleep giggling by ad-libbing a story involving tickle and snot guns. Epic win!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh little mischievous prankster turned 2 today, and refused his biggest present with a polite "no fanks".&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh got a little nervous last night when his one year old wandered into the room with the computer, made a few noises and muttered to himself "There, I fixed it!"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh explained to his children, with pictures, who Michael Jackson was. Quoth Ben: "Is it a girl or a boy?"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh spent the afternoon racing hot wheels cars and assembling lego spaceships. The boys also got to play.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh can't quite remember the ABC song including "H,I,J,K, Elmo, Elmo, P"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh regrets showing his 1yo Speedy Gonzales cartoons. He now sneaks up behind you and shouts "EEHA!"&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 6yo and 4yo occasionally burst into the duck season/rabbit season routine.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh is having awesome fun with his wonderful family, a shiny new four year old, hot wheels, heatblast and an omnitrix cake.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh wrestled with an interesting equation yesterday: 3 excited boys + 1 friends new house + infinite mud...&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh attempted to have a night in with his wife and a DVD. Opening credits coincided with the start of the screaming, thrashing, panadol, vomiting, nurofen and medical hotline calls.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh gave his boys "pickle" toast for breakfast before getting on the "foxy" train. Adult translation: sprinkle, foggy.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's boys did a great improv slapstick routine involving a box of pencils, an ankle-height telephone cord, a cup of water, and a computer&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh would like to occasionally dress his toddler without the Benny Hill style chase.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh just got suprised by his 1yo bursting out of a cupboard shouting "BOO!"... again.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh wonders about the sale value of his formerly pristine home now that he had to hacksaw his way into his eldest son's bedroom.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 3yo son is disappointed. We finally got our For Sale sign in our yard, and there wasn't a single "4" on it!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh doesn't quite understand the game his boys invented, entitled "you lose, pick up the poo", but fully comprehends the underlying philosophy.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's insightful three year old asked this morning if it was Friday yet.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh stuck his head into a McDonalds garbage bin to retrieve his son's seashell collection that had been swiped by a cleaner.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh had ringside seats for his boys' tag team vomiting spectacular last night.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh discovered that his rampaging toddler can rip the back door off a house.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's eldest boy, unprompted, wrote a birthday note to his mum in the middle of the night and left it on her pillow.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 1yo can't quite discern between Batman, Superman and Mailman.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's eldest son worked to earn money to buy his *brother* a new toy.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 1yo thinks that a hard earned thirst needs a big cold Canola Oil.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's 6yo is saving his pocket money to buy a house for a bushfire victim.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's one year old gives him both cute kisses and glasgow kisses.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Steven Cavanagh 's youngest said his first sentence: "I love you Dad".&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-1669943181686416255?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/1669943181686416255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=1669943181686416255' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1669943181686416255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1669943181686416255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2009/12/compilation.html' title='A compilation..'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-6670729725397137884</id><published>2008-08-24T17:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T17:26:25.566-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What it's all about.</title><content type='html'>My one year old can't talk yet. The poor little guy is currently sick, and yesterday he was sitting on the floor, rolling his head forward and moaning "OOooooohhhh", over and over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I moved to comfort my poor ailing son when he suddenly clapped a few times, then started the moaning again, then clapped again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It took a few moments more to realise that, a little while before, the stereo had been playing the hokey pokey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ooooooh, the hokey pokey.&lt;br /&gt;That's what it's all about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-6670729725397137884?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/6670729725397137884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=6670729725397137884' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6670729725397137884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6670729725397137884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-its-all-about.html' title='What it&apos;s all about.'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-5237677690443208326</id><published>2008-08-18T18:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T18:04:06.779-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The following conversation took place recently between two children belonging to some friends of ours:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4yo boy: "I'll be a Ninja Turtle, and you can be a Princess!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5yo girl (rolling eyes): "Don't be silly. Princesses aren't REAL!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-5237677690443208326?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/5237677690443208326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=5237677690443208326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5237677690443208326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5237677690443208326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/08/following-conversation-took-place.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-7318881043545868707</id><published>2008-07-06T22:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T22:15:46.649-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Geography</title><content type='html'>At my parents' place the other day, I spotted a compass lying around. My 5yo is very much into geography at the moment, so I told him what it was and he surprised me with his knowledge of the existance of the north and south poles. He's always asking me about places and whether they're in Australia or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly he said "Dad, do you know what the capital of Sebastian is?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I struggled to identify the place and said "no, what it is it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"S".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-7318881043545868707?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/7318881043545868707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=7318881043545868707' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7318881043545868707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7318881043545868707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/07/geography.html' title='Geography'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-2489998471462173395</id><published>2008-06-10T16:48:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T16:49:15.358-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Before tact is learned...</title><content type='html'>"Daddy, are you shaving your spiky whiskers?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yep, they're all gone now. See?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"There's more on your back."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-2489998471462173395?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/2489998471462173395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=2489998471462173395' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/2489998471462173395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/2489998471462173395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/06/before-tact-is-learned.html' title='Before tact is learned...'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-304686252262929159</id><published>2008-05-11T22:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-11T22:57:59.831-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It really does happen!</title><content type='html'>This morning at the breakfast table:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5yo: No.&lt;br /&gt;2yo: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;5yo: No.&lt;br /&gt;2yo: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;5yo: No.&lt;br /&gt;2yo: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;5yo: No.&lt;br /&gt;2yo: No.&lt;br /&gt;5yo: Yes.&lt;br /&gt;2yo: No.&lt;br /&gt;5yo: Yes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I had my mouth full and missed the chance to blurt out "DUCK SEASON! FIRE!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-304686252262929159?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/304686252262929159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=304686252262929159' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/304686252262929159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/304686252262929159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/05/it-really-does-happen.html' title='It really does happen!'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-6825671763414165157</id><published>2008-05-06T19:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T22:16:23.547-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My ten-month old baby was crying in the car, so I asked his brothers for a solution. "We could sing to him", offered five-year-old eldest. He sang "twinkle twinkle little star" to his brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look," I said, "He's stopped crying."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Big brother didn't stop there. "Dad," he said, "I'm gonna keep singing until all his tears blow away."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;awwwwww...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-6825671763414165157?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/6825671763414165157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=6825671763414165157' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6825671763414165157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6825671763414165157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-ten-month-old-baby-was-crying-in-car.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-8616123965588897376</id><published>2008-02-12T18:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T18:52:13.713-08:00</updated><title type='text'>At 3am...</title><content type='html'>...I hear a two year old voice: &lt;br /&gt;"Dad?"&lt;br /&gt;.......&lt;br /&gt;"Daaaad?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stumble in bleary eyed to be met with the phrase:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Goodnight."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-8616123965588897376?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/8616123965588897376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=8616123965588897376' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/8616123965588897376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/8616123965588897376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/02/at-3am.html' title='At 3am...'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-5442703715439634687</id><published>2008-02-04T17:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-04T18:00:48.565-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Starting school.</title><content type='html'>I always used to scoff at parents that get teary at their kids' first day of school. I mean, they'll see them in a few hours, right?&lt;br /&gt;Now I understand. The little baby I watched learn to breathe has now finished his Early Childhood (you know, the make-or-break period that sets them on their path for life) and they're about to be released into a faulty system over which you have no control. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now imagine how THEY feel, entering an alien world without having developed the social skills to deal with it or articulate it to you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first day of school was a carefully engineered anticlimax, where the kids get taken in with no fuss and little chance to say goodbye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second day, the bell went and my five-year-old sat down on the line to go in, with the rest of the kids. I began to reassure him, told him I'd see him soon, and he turned to me and said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dad, are you going to go or not?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fly, my son.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-5442703715439634687?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/5442703715439634687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=5442703715439634687' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5442703715439634687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5442703715439634687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2008/02/starting-school.html' title='Starting school.'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-6861173891272422819</id><published>2007-12-26T13:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T13:53:44.129-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The image of my two year old stomping around the house wearing a Christmas stocking that comes up to his waist is priceless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-6861173891272422819?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/6861173891272422819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=6861173891272422819' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6861173891272422819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6861173891272422819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/12/image-of-my-two-year-old-stomping.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-7806873193440034799</id><published>2007-12-17T15:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-17T15:52:51.283-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Clouds</title><content type='html'>I had to keep three five year olds busy while waiting for some other parents the other day, so I pointed out that there were no clouds in the sky and asked where they went. The following conversation ensued:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5yo1: "Maybe they're hiding behind bigger clouds?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5yo2: "Maybe they're hiding behind the sun!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5yo3: (rolls eyes) "They'd MELT!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-7806873193440034799?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/7806873193440034799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=7806873193440034799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7806873193440034799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7806873193440034799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/12/clouds.html' title='Clouds'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-6361633802608145271</id><published>2007-12-06T20:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-06T20:53:45.202-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>We had a five year old superhero birthday party last Saturday, it was a total riot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point I was called outside by Birthday Boy himself, who stood amid a collapsed plastic cubby house with the four other intrepid heroes who had climbed on the roof. I reminded BB that he knew he wasn't allowed up there, and he ran off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I assumed he wasn't coping with the reprimand, but he soon returned- with a sticky tape dispenser! :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was even more cute was walking past twenty minutes later to find the roof stuck back on with meters of tape, and six enthusiastic kids hard at word adding more layers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-6361633802608145271?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/6361633802608145271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=6361633802608145271' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6361633802608145271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/6361633802608145271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/12/we-had-five-year-old-superhero-birthday.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-979023815598298302</id><published>2007-11-25T17:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T17:03:45.832-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kidlish #3</title><content type='html'>2yo goes to the shopping mall and thinks all the "broccoli" hanging from the ceiling is pretty cool. I resist the temptation to serve holly wreaths for dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's also into craft, and likes playing with scissors and "tippy tape".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-979023815598298302?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/979023815598298302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=979023815598298302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/979023815598298302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/979023815598298302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/11/kidlish-3.html' title='Kidlish #3'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-3655460104175192629</id><published>2007-11-18T21:47:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T21:48:57.233-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More Kidlish</title><content type='html'>Mmmmm, pizza and "garbage bread".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-3655460104175192629?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/3655460104175192629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=3655460104175192629' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/3655460104175192629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/3655460104175192629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/11/more-kidlish.html' title='More Kidlish'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-5858268886198410391</id><published>2007-11-04T21:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T21:52:48.023-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was wrenched out of sleep, somewhere between 2 and 4am, by my 2yo yelling "STOP!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I run into his room, and see him lying on his bed asleep. I go him, ready to stand by my little boy and fend off the nightmares that trouble his slumber.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...and he calls out "GO!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even heard "WAIT" as I went back to bed. I assume that by then the traffic light was orange.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-5858268886198410391?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/5858268886198410391/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=5858268886198410391' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5858268886198410391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5858268886198410391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-was-wrenched-out-of-sleep-somewhere.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-220446555284809041</id><published>2007-10-24T23:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-24T23:20:01.278-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='speech'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'>Kidlish</title><content type='html'>I love when kids encounter a word they don't understand, so they mash it up with words they do. A couple that come to mind, courtesy of my boys:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-A bowl of "Ice Cheese".&lt;br /&gt;-Seeing a "Hairy old copter" flying overhead.&lt;br /&gt;-Spreading honey on your "Jumpets".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-220446555284809041?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/220446555284809041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=220446555284809041' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/220446555284809041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/220446555284809041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/10/kidlish.html' title='Kidlish'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-9115115719190130466</id><published>2007-09-09T19:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-09T21:56:54.205-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today's audio quality tip: Maximise the output of your speaker's sub-woofer by removing any plastic rockets that have been pushed inside.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-9115115719190130466?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/9115115719190130466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=9115115719190130466' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/9115115719190130466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/9115115719190130466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/09/todays-audio-quality-tip-maximise.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-4096958176767831205</id><published>2007-08-26T22:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-26T22:45:57.483-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='superheroes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"I'm drawing something for you, Daddy, and you have to guess. It begins with 'one'."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My four year-old son scribbles furiously on a magnetic sketch pad, then shows me his picture. It looks like a man, in preschool lollipop style, with oustretched arms and squiggly hair. Lots of lines radiate around the arms. &lt;br /&gt;I try to think of any name that begins with 1. I'm mentally browsing &lt;em&gt;Star Wars &lt;/em&gt;droid names when my son puts me out of my misery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wonder Woman!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-4096958176767831205?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/4096958176767831205/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=4096958176767831205' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/4096958176767831205'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/4096958176767831205'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/08/im-drawing-something-for-you-daddy-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-723837482177266910</id><published>2007-08-05T15:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-05T15:27:46.820-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sleep'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sick'/><title type='text'>Lessons my sons taught me last night</title><content type='html'>My two year old son taught me that a matchbox car can make a fairly effective eating utensil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My four year old son taught me that the altitude afforded by a top bunk &lt;i&gt;vastly&lt;/i&gt; increases the range of projectile vomit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(not to be outdone) my four week old son taught me that a newborn baby lying on his back can fountain milk clear over the 20cm wall of a bassinet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last two happened at 1am at either end of the house, like duelling banjos. I guess my four year old is becoming a leader.&lt;br /&gt;In my already sleep-deprived daze, as I stripped beds and scrubbed at carpet, one mystery kept floating through my mind: But he refuses to &lt;i&gt;eat&lt;/i&gt; carrots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The room is spinning, my eyes are burning, and it's Monday. Still, as every parent knows, you don't start feeling REAL fatigue until about the four month mark...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-723837482177266910?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/723837482177266910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=723837482177266910' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/723837482177266910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/723837482177266910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/08/lessons-my-sons-taught-me-last-night.html' title='Lessons my sons taught me last night'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-2131444491254470283</id><published>2007-07-23T18:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T18:28:33.913-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>4yo: "I'm just going for a drive. Just call me if you need me, I'll come right back! I'm gonna bring you something and you'll love it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife has a rapidly growing collection of dandelions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-2131444491254470283?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/2131444491254470283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=2131444491254470283' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/2131444491254470283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/2131444491254470283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/07/4yo-im-just-going-for-drive.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-7498811413477272807</id><published>2007-07-02T20:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T20:11:07.958-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My two year old has a habit of coming up to you, hitting you on the head three times with his hand, saying "there, all fixed!" and walking off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-7498811413477272807?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/7498811413477272807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=7498811413477272807' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7498811413477272807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7498811413477272807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/07/my-two-year-old-has-habit-of-coming-up.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-5091238321489811860</id><published>2007-07-02T20:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T20:07:23.042-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In the middle of Westfield Parramatta (one of Sydney's largest shopping malls), my two year old stands up on a bench, raises his hands in the air and addresses the crowds streaming past: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"HELLO ALL YOU PEOPLES!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His loyal subjects gave no reply, stunned at his majesty. Or something.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-5091238321489811860?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/5091238321489811860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=5091238321489811860' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5091238321489811860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5091238321489811860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/07/in-middle-of-westfield-parramatta-one.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-7923582381110354114</id><published>2007-04-22T00:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-22T00:08:01.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Added to the list of "I can't believe I found myself saying that":&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey! No lightsabers in the fish tank!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-7923582381110354114?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/7923582381110354114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=7923582381110354114' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7923582381110354114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/7923582381110354114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/04/added-to-list-of-i-cant-believe-i-found.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-557458022044666951</id><published>2007-02-05T16:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-05T16:54:12.424-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My wife was at a friend's house yesterday and busted our four year old bouncing on their bed (and ringleading his little brother and the friend's little girl). &lt;br /&gt;He was sternly instructed not to jump on people's beds, and obediently came into the loungeroom.&lt;br /&gt;Several minutes later, my wife hears similar sounds coming from the bedroom and finds our four year old back on the bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In straight-faced innocence, he explained that it was okay because he was jumping &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;off&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;the bed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-557458022044666951?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/557458022044666951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=557458022044666951' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/557458022044666951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/557458022044666951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/02/my-wife-was-at-friends-house-yesterday.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-5852230256584740237</id><published>2007-01-28T21:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T21:34:58.904-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Australia Day'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Last Friday we went to the Australia Day celebrations at Parramatta park. Highlights include:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Master one-and-a-half sitting on the ground in front of a stage filled with twirling acrobats doing incredible feats of wonder- and being fascinated by a little hole in the dirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Master four's two week long enthusiasm about seeing hot air balloons being momentarily dampened when all 21 of them roared their burners at the same time. It was like being in the middle of a flock of dragons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watching the little model aeroplanes zoom around the park, and hear a little girl's voice behind me asking if there were people in them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Counterpoint: on the way home, having a car drive by screaming "F**k Australia, Lebs rule". What an endearing and articulate group of fine young men. Last one out of Sydney turns into a pillar of salt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-5852230256584740237?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/5852230256584740237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=5852230256584740237' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5852230256584740237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/5852230256584740237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/01/last-friday-we-went-to-australia-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-1878208921836935878</id><published>2007-01-22T19:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T21:35:26.580-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cute'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='children'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When I step out of the shower, my four-year-old sometimes hears the water stop, and runs and gets me a towel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's cute enough, but his little brother tries to copy everything he does. Some time ago I stepped out of the shower to find my little toddler handing me one of my wife's bras.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-1878208921836935878?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/1878208921836935878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=1878208921836935878' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1878208921836935878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1878208921836935878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/01/when-i-step-out-of-shower-my-four-year.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-1486588619212332657</id><published>2007-01-18T21:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-18T21:46:15.382-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>You first know something is up when little Matty (1 1/2) toddles into view looking at you with That Glint in his eye, and holding a large soup ladle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not taking his eye off you, he taps the wall with the ladle, once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," you say, shaking your head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two taps, harder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No. That's not a toy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another two hard taps, accompanied by a smug grin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You get up to take the offending weapon from him. At this point he erupts into a gleeful cackle and bolts for it, having achieved his objective of initiating a chase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suckered again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-1486588619212332657?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/1486588619212332657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=1486588619212332657' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1486588619212332657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1486588619212332657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/01/you-first-know-something-is-up-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-8852636285981909006</id><published>2007-01-17T17:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-17T17:39:39.111-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chip off the old (choc) block</title><content type='html'>When my oldest son Ben was about 1 1/2, he had his first chocolate chip cookie. We were on a long car trip, and it seemed to keep him quiet, but when I turned around I found he had somehow eaten the entire cookie and &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;not a single chocolate chip&lt;/span&gt;, all of which sat in a little pyramid on his chest. How did he &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;do &lt;/span&gt;that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-8852636285981909006?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/8852636285981909006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=8852636285981909006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/8852636285981909006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/8852636285981909006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/01/chip-off-old-choc-block.html' title='Chip off the old (choc) block'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-1056251047313845859</id><published>2007-01-15T17:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-15T17:07:03.954-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It is not uncommon for me to be woken up at 6am by the sound of rattling cot bars and a little voice calling out "Toast! Toooooooast!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-1056251047313845859?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/1056251047313845859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=1056251047313845859' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1056251047313845859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/1056251047313845859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/01/it-is-not-uncommon-for-me-to-be-woken.html' title=''/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670907431349553900.post-3797781206052253473</id><published>2007-01-14T21:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-14T22:01:12.039-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Launched!</title><content type='html'>Welcome to Cute, Comic, Crazy. You know when your kids do something cute or funny and you think "hey, I should write that down?" Well, I intend to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To start us off: the below exchange occured between a nine-year old boy and his Mum, somewhere in my extended family. Names withheld to prevent painful death:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mother: Get in the bath NOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy: No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mother: You get in there or I'll shave you bald!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy: But I don't have any hair down there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His Dad was rolling on the floor for a good ten minutes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1670907431349553900-3797781206052253473?l=awsocute.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/feeds/3797781206052253473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1670907431349553900&amp;postID=3797781206052253473' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/3797781206052253473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1670907431349553900/posts/default/3797781206052253473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://awsocute.blogspot.com/2007/01/launched.html' title='Launched!'/><author><name>Cav</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15347355251625765188</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
