he's just getting mean

Time: Today at noon.
Place: The kitchen table.
Scene: Andy and I eating lunch while listening to some tunes.

John Denver's "Country Roads" came on. Naturally, being a born n' bred West Virginian I started singing it to him. After all, he needs to learn that one if he's going to be wearing his Mountie jersey.

Andy was working on his fruit cup and I was sitting there singing. Not too loudly or bawdily, mind you. And he stopped eating, took the spoon out of his mouth, held his hand up to my face and said, "NO, Mommy! Stop singing! I'm trying to eat my dinner!"

This behavior isn't unusual, sadly. He's gotten downright insulting. In fact, just a few moments ago I read him some stories, closed his blinds and told him it was time to take a nap. He yelled, "Nooo! I'm not taking a naaaaaap!" Then he ran out of the room, down the hall, and into my bedroom where he promptly slammed the door and barricaded himself behind my bed.

Truly, he did.

don't pull the wool

I admit it: I mess with my kid just a little bit. I can't help it. He's fascinating. Sometimes it's hard to think of him as an actual human being, but every day he proves that he is.

He still sleeps with his Booba. And if you'll recall, there are 3 of them. They rotate around the house, sharing the job of being Andy's companion. Now he doesn't take Booba with him everywhere any longer. Booba has become strictly a bed bunny. He'll bring Booba downstairs with him in the morning or after a nap but then poor Booba is always discarded on the floor. I feel bad for that wabbit.

Anyway, at nap time today I put Andy in his bed. Booba #1 was down in the basement on the floor so I went to the closet and pulled out Booba #2 and handed it to Andy. He looped his finger through the tag on Booba's posterior, inspected it quickly and handed it right back to me.

"I want the better Booba."

I still can't really figure out how he knows which Booba is which, but again I'm sure I'm not giving him enough credit. But just for curiosity's sake, I went to the closet, pretended to switch Boobas, and then handed him the same Booba he'd just rejected. I was sure he'd smile and be happy with it.

He did smile. He took it from me. He looped his finger through Booba's tag. Then his face immediately clouded.

"This isn't the better Booba."

I stifled a laugh and said, "Yes it is honey." (I know. It was just wrong of me.)

He handed it to me and said dully, "Nooooooooooooo it isn't."

So I went and got Booba #3, the better Booba and gave it to him. He immediately lay down and asked for his blankies.

How did he know? I can't even tell the difference between those damn things.

wha????

At dinner tonight Andy pointed angrily at his blueberry muffin and said sharply, "RESPECT, muffin!"

He demands it.

direct and to the point

Andy has the stomach flu today, which is horribly gross. Yet he still managed to give me fodder for Qwerty's Blog, even in his somewhat depressed state.

Actually, now that the intestinal pyrotechnics have hopefully subsided, he feels pretty decent. Enough to yank a cat's tail or two, and enough to be antsy at the dinner table. In addition he was entirely un-amused by his plain noodles, sans any buttery or acidic sauce.

He was done playing with them and mashing crackers into the table. I was done, but Shawn wasn't finished eating and we try to encourage him to stay at the table until everybody is done. Of course, he's 2, so that doesn't always happen and we certainly don't force him.

Tonight he was ready to get down and said repeatedly, "I want to get down now, Mommy."

I said, "Honey can you wait until Daddy stops eating?"

He looked at me with an angelic face and said, "Okay Mommy."

The he turned to look at his father and said, "Stop eating Daddy. I want to get down now."

phone chatter

On the phone with my mom:

"Oh my gaaaaawd. I throw things."

He sure does.

who?

This afternoon after lunch I was sitting by the fire and Andy came to sit on my lap with a picture book of animals. We went through each page and he told me what the animal was and then made the animal's noise.

We got to the owl and he said, "hoo".

I got all up in his ear and said, "Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!" (There are a couple of owls in his favorite Rudolph movie and I was imitating them.)

He turned to face me and said, "That's enough, Mommy. That's enough out of the owl."

happy thanksgiving

I just walked into my mom's sunroom to find Andy standing unusually still.

"What are you doing Andy?"

He coughed. Then he said, "I got a little cough. And I'm pooping."

Swell.

i hear myself

My own words so often come back to haunt me these days.

For some reason, yesterday morning I was talking to Andy about the Wagnerian opera "The Flying Dutchman". (I have no idea why.) I said to Andy, "Der fliegende Holländer", which is the Flying Dutchman in German.

He looked at me questioningly, and then shook his finger at me and said, "No, Mommy! Don't say that! Don't teach him that!"

Apparently those words have been spoken a time or two around here....

terror at the zoo, part 2

I took Andy to see the Christmas laser show at the zoo.

Terrified.

"I want to go home! I don't like it! I scared of the angel! I want to go home Mommy!!!"

Damn you, zoo.

memories of horror

This morning Andy was sitting on the potty before school. He said, "Boo at the Zoo."

I said, "Did you have fun at Boo at the Zoo?"

"NO!!!"

today's report card

"I saw a different side to Andy today. He was very aggressive towards some of the other children. On one hand I am glad to see that he is standing up for himself, but on the other hand I saw no other child being aggressive towards him. He was very hyper and was even climbing the bookshelves...."

Did not get along well with others.
Did not follow directions.
Was not respectful towards others.

Haha! Finally! I am not the only one to catch a glimpse of "Evil Andy".

first soliloquy

Last night we had Davey's going-away dinner. He's just left for New Zealand for 6 months and won't return until April. We are all bummed. Andy adores his uncle and if he were just a bit older would be just heartbroken at his departure, but fortunately toddlers don't really register a lot of these changes in their lives at this early age. I am bummed for him, however.

But last night they played and played. And at the end of the night, Andy was all happy and uttered the following monologue, the longest thing I've ever heard come out of his mouth. I've paraphrased just a tad because there were a lot of little toddler noises thrown in and some um's and ah's and maybe one or two other things I couldn't quite make out. But basically he said:

"At Mimi's house and there was a train at and it went up the track and then it crashed into the tv and I bumped my head and I dreamed about bees in my bed. How does that sound?"

We lost it.

unforgiveable

Shawn and Andy are playing on the floor. I told Andy to go crawl into his 6-foot tunnel which I brought out for him. He said no, because

"Daddy's too big and fat to fit in the tunnel."

his first reflexive verb, en espanol

I have to give those "Go Diego! Go!" cartoon people credit.

The other day I was cleaning the fish tank and Andy was playing in the living room. He was trying to get a toy out of his toy box but it was stuck and wasn't budging. Normally at this point he'd throw a hissy fit and slam himself into the floor.

But this time he just yelled, "Ayudame! Ayudame!"

Now that is impressive.

('Ayudame' means 'Help me' in Spanish.)

more 'splainin to do

In addition to confusing muffin and puffin, and blimp and shrimp ("There's a shrimp in the sky, Mommy!"), Andy is confused about other things, apparently.

For example, we're watching an "Andy Movie" right now - a home movie from last winter. Andy loves to watch his home movies. And this particular video has a shot of our resident red-tailed hawk. We hear him often and see him from time to time too in the yard. In this clip the hawk is sitting on a snowy branch outside of our foyer window.

When Andy saw the video of the bird, he said, "There's a ham hock."

We've been making ham and bean soup. It's understandable.

aargh, matey!

Last evening we went to a pirate-themed Halloween party up at Oglebay. Andy went as a skunk. Shawn went as a banana. I did the pirate thing.

The place was decorated in a piratical theme, complete with life-sized skeleton in pirate garb that had a moving jaw and sword. Andy was, in his own words, horrified. We spent the vast majority of the evening outside in the cold so as to avoid the creepy pirate in the corner. Eventually he was able to work up the nerve to approach it, shake it's hand and take a Reeses' cup from it's bowl.

He did dance, or rather took my hand and ran around in circles for long periods of time until I had to stop for fear of losing my hot buttered rum and the other contents of my stomach. They also had a giant pile of pine shavings under which a few pounds of candy were buried; by the time Andy found his way out there the candy was long gone. But Andy was far more interested in the pine shavings and spent 40 minutes standing alone in the pile throwing handfuls about, covering his adorable costume and his father with them.

I have to say, though, the highlight of the evening was when I was introduced to a local pediatrician and was talking to him and his kids about this and that. I believe it was my mother who drew our attention to Andy, who was standing at the dessert table helping himself to rum balls. I'd say he got at least 3 in him before I fully grasped what was going on. I could barely bring myself to acknowledge this doctor for the rest of the evening.

Rum at 2. Way to go, me.

horror

12pm today. In the Spirit Halloween store at the mall, buying costumes for the party next weekend. I'm wandering around. Andy's following me, looking at everything.

We come to the scary mask section.

Andy runs behind my legs. I ask, "What's wrong Andy?"

He says, "I'm horrified."

rosy cheeks

I can't exactly explain this.

On Saturday Andy was being rotten. Drinking water and spitting it out and blowing wet raspberries in my face. I told him no, and got another raspberry. Finally I took a firm hold of his arm, told him no again and ordered him to sit down on the floor.

Instead of sitting down, he ran over to his father, turned around and presented his hind end to Shawn and said, "Have to beat my butt now."

Shawn and I burst into hysterics and at the same time felt terrible. We've never laid a hand on this kid. So what this whole butt-beating bullsh*t is about is beyond me....

But it was darn funny.

not good parenting

It's Halloween time again, and that means Boo at the Zoo. We decided to go last night. The kids dress up and go to various candy stations set up around the zoo. There are a few animals on display that aren't asleep, but the main attraction is the train ride.

Now if you've read either blog you know how much Andy loves trains. When we got to the zoo we'd already gone to Wash Pa during the day and ridden a few trollies. But he was still jonesing for more choo choo. So while we made the candy rounds through the zoo, he kept one ear on the train and reminded us that he wanted to ride it. As we walked under a bridge as the train sped by, he burst into tears because he thought he'd missed his chance. When we got to the station and waited in line, he again sobbed when the train left and we had to wait for the next one. I have a photo of him sitting on the bench in his skunk costume in tears and misery because the train had pulled away sans Andy.

Finally we were on this train. Andy was loving it. We went through the ostrich pen, in the dark. We went through the woods, in the dark. Awesome Mommy. Awesome Daddy.

Then the first group of guys came out of the woods wearing masks and screaming at the passing cars and passengers. Uncertainty.

The second group of guys came out of the woods. He jumped. I made the mistake of verbally acknowledging the fact that he jumped. (If you're not yet a parent, take note: if you don't verbally mention something, sometimes it can help avert disaster. Sometimes.)

The third group of guys did him in. He started to cry. People shrieked with horror/glee. He cried harder and clung to me like a tick. He buried his head in my coat and at the same time couldn't stop looking out into the woods in that fearful/obsessional way children do. Unfortunately at this point we still had another two-thirds of the ride ahead of us and I knew that more guys were lurking in the woods.

I tucked him into my coat and sung the Thomas the Train song to him. He finally stopped sobbing so hysterically and saying, "I'm scared Mommy!" I knew we had one more set of guys to go through though and I tried so hard to keep his ears and eyes covered. Of course it didn't work. He had finally calmed enough to ask me to keep singing to him when the last four guys came howling out of the woods.

And of course it started all over again. The sobbing. The clinging. The terror. The pitiful little baby voice saying, "I'm scared Mommy! I want to go home now! I want to go home now!"

Just awful. For the rest of the evening he was pretty quiet. He was visibly disturbed by a skeleton in a corner and he told his Meme all about the scary men in the woods when we got home. I was more than prepared for a 3am nightmare, but thankfully the bad dreams stayed away. For now.

So. I am officially the worst parent alive. I took my child on the train ride from hell, thinking he'd have fun and enjoy it. He was absolutely horrified. It was pretty much my worst idea ever.

I suck.

chewed out

He had a sippy cup in his teeth and was shaking his head back and forth and the sippy cup was flying around smacking me in the arm. I snatched it out of his mouth and put it down.

He yelled, "No Mommy! You're ticking me off now!"

bipolar

This is what Andy told his father this morning as he sat at the breakfast table before school:

"Hi Daddy. I woke up this morning. I cried and cried and cried. I was happy."

Somehow I don't think we've properly explained the nature of various emotions to him.

piglet

Uncle Davey is home this week to do some work on one of the family houses. So of course Andy has been all over him like a piranha on a pork chop. Today Davey and Andy and I picked up lunch for ourselves and our mom (Meme) and brought it back to her kitchen.

Andy was hurriedly working on his giant pile of rice and beans. Davey set his plate down next to Andy's elbow and went in search of silverware. Andy promptly helped himself to Davey's meal and in particular went to work on the tortilla chips. When Davey came back and absent-mindedly picked up his plate Andy suddenly got very upset.

He threw his hands out to the side and said, "Oh dear! There goes my food! Davey took it away!"

It was mighty difficult to explain the exact nature of the situation to him. Parents and grandparents freely share whatever is on their plates with the little free loader. Davey obviously just doesn't get it.

not surprising

Today on the way home from school I asked Andy what he'd done and what he'd learned.

He said, "No means STOP."

I asked, "Who said that?"

He answered, "Miss Kim said, 'Stop, boys! Stop everything!'"

Looks like there's all sorts of trouble to get into, no matter where a young lad finds himself.

don't tease me

Andy just got very angry at the little crane in his train set, burst into tears, and announced, "I'm running away!"

cruel baby

We're sitting on the couch watching the Coal Bowl.

I reach over to give Andy a kiss in the general vicinity of his ear.

"Stop it Mommy! You're ticking me off!"

Ouch.

EDITED on 9/29 to add this:

Andy was drinking out of a bottle of water and he spilled some on his leg. Shawn couldn't help but laugh.

This enraged Andy and he puffed up like a chicken and yelled, "Stop it Daddy! You tick me off!!!"

'tude

Last night we were playing in Andy's room before bed. He was clean and in his jammies and has recently discovered how much fun it is to hide under his crib. There's a bed skirt so it's like a little cave where he can hoard his Hot Wheels in private.

Shawn and I were talking while Andy rolled around under there and suddenly, in a quiet moment, we heard the him say, "It's a bad attitude."

I said to Shawn, "What in the world?"

He peeked out from under the bed skirt and said slowly, "It's a bad atti.....tuuuude!"

wildness

humiliation, party of 2

I suppose it was inevitable that the airport incident wouldn't be the last time my child embarrassed me in public, but I didn't expect it to be so utterly and totally degrading when it did re-occur.

Molly and I decided to take our boys to McDonald's for lunch. It's a fun treat for them and it solves both the lunch problem and the need for a daily outing, while at the same time clogging their arteries and setting a poor dietary example right from the start. We always enjoy it.

Today, though, not so much.

I picked up Andy from school and we headed to the restaurant. It was lunch time-ish, so the crowds were starting to gather. (Keep this in mind; it's a key factor in the whole humiliation experience. Nothing like an audience.) I ordered him a Happy Meal and a chocolate milk. If you've read this blog in the past you know of Andy's dire need for mass daily quantities of chocolate milk, and how I'm okay with it because it still puts calcium on his bones.

So the chocolate milk was sitting on the tray, but the french fries were not quite ready. So we were asked to step to the side while the next customer in line ordered. Andy, however, had both heard me order his milk and seen it placed on his tray, and got antsy. As I talked to Molly while we waited I was conscious of typical toddler blather in the background, the stuff you hear them repeat over and over and over until they are both acknowledged and satisfied with that acknowledgment. I am sure he was requesting his chocolate milk.

But of course I had a tray of food and more to come, and the chocolate milk was sealed and required a straw, so I simply couldn't give him his milk. Moreover, I can't and don't give in to toddler demands in those situations. I told him to wait, that it was coming.

They put the rest of the food on our tray. I picked it up with one hand as best I could and reached out to grab his little hand with the other. He wailed about his chocolate milk and I said, simply, "Come on, Andy, let's go sit down and open your milk."

He lost it. I don't know if my message was unclear or if he was angry that the milk wasn't already being siphoned into his stomach, but he lost it. However, it wasn't a tantrum in the traditional sense. He didn't shriek or cry. He simply sat down.

Then he lay down. On the floor. In front of the register. At McDonald's. In front of the entire line of customers.

My child lay on his back on the revolting McDonald's floor and stared up at the ceiling with big tears rolling down his cheeks. The crowd had to part and one man had to step over him to get to the counter and place his order. I did not have the courage to look anybody in the eye. I bent down, still balancing a tray of food and drinks, and tried to get him up. He went as limp as a squid and fell back to the floor. The poor man trying to order stepped on the tip of his pinky finger. I tried again and he wailed, "I want my chocolate milk!"

This is my nightmare. He was THAT kid. The bratty kid lying on the floor in some public venue uttering those horrible words, "I want my......". How could my child do that to me? That was all that ran through my head. My child was the one on the floor causing a scene.

I had to suffer the extreme humiliation and awkwardness of pulling him up off the floor by his arm and solidifying his jelly legs while at the same time holding on to our tray of food. The whole of the restaurant simply stared at us. I did not bother to hold my head up as I dragged him off to our booth. I hung my head in parental shame.

For the next five minutes the man who'd had to step over Andy kept looking in my direction and trying to send me reassuring smiles. I could barely bring myself to nod. Finally he received his food and as he was walking out the door, he called out, "It gets better!"

Does it, sir? Does it really get better? Because this was bad.

And then, to top it all off, when I told my husband about this incident, his oh-so-brilliant words of consolation were, "Well I would have put him in time out."

Oh yeah, Shawn? You'd have put him in time out? Where?

"Andy Roberts! Get off the floor and go sit over there by the fryer for five minutes! You're in time out! Don't you move, mister! That's right! You stand right next to that bag of frozen patties and think about what you did!"

Or maybe I should have tossed our lunches and taken him to the car and put him in the Naughty Chair I carry around in the trunk.

I will never show my face in that McDonalds again.

banished

The other day Andy was running his cars up and down the square, drywall column in our new basement.

Suddenly there was a shriek and the cars fell down to the carpet. He was enraged and picked them up and hurled them in fury.

I asked him what was the matter and he told me, "Make me angry. Put the wall in time out, Mommy."

So if you come to our house, don't talk to the load-bearing column on the south-facing side of our basement. It's in time out.

potty time

We're working on the potty thing. It's slow. I can't push him because it'll backfire in my face. He has to want to sit on the potty himself. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn't.

Every night we put him in the tub and every night he pees in the tub...like fountain shooting up out of the water. He cracks himself up. So now I always strip him down and ask him if he wants to sit on the potty first. Usually he's so excited about the tub that he says no, and I leave him alone.

Last night I got his clothing off and said, "Andy, would you like to sit on the potty?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't want to."

So I took off his diaper and went around the corner to drop his clothing in the hamper. When I came back 2.5 seconds later, there he was, smiling, staring down at the carpet as he peed wildly all over it.

Dang, man.

a wuppin'

Andy: "Mommy's bum."

Me: "What about Mommy's bum?"

Andy: "I want to kick it. I want to kick Mommy's bum."


Okay. Who'd he hear it from? 'Fess up.

woof

For Andy's 2nd birthday, his Aunt Lynnette bought him a most obnoxious thing. It's a toy Cadillac Escalade truck with speakers all over it. When you push the button the speakers thump and it plays "Who Let The Dogs Out".

As you can imagine, this is a really irritating toy. But Andy loves it and he loves it when I sing, "Who let the dogs out? Woof woof woof!" to him and he dances.

As I was typing the "meanie" entry, Andy was over at his train table singing, "Who let the Squirt out? Ooof ooof ooof!"

meanie

Andy is sick. He's caught a doozie of a cold, probably from school. In addition, he's getting the last of his molars - the upper 2-year molars - and his mouth is bloody and sore. So you can well imagine his current mood this week.

He was so stuffy today that I gave him some Benadryl to help him sleep during his nap. He had a nice long one but the antihistamine really made it hard for him to wake up, and he was extra grumpy. I didn't hear him wake up until after Shawn was home, and I sent my husband up to retrieve the lad from his bed.

I heard him upstairs crying and I heard him say, "I don't see Mommy! She needs a hug."

They came down the stairs and into the kitchen, and as soon as he saw me, Andy pushed away from his father and said, "Mommy, I need a hug!" As he reached for me, Shawn said, "Squirty, don't I get a hug?"

I said, "Andy, hug your father."

Andy clung to me and said, "I don't like you, Father."

Poor Shawn.

this is not happening

Andy: "Mommy! My bottom hurts!"

Me: "Oh no? What's wrong?"

Andy: "Kiss it!"



I didn't, by the way.

moo

Yesterday we took Andy to his first Belmont County Fair. He's a bit young for the rides, still, but the 4H section of the fair is perfect for a 2-year-old. We did the greasy food thing and then found us some chickens. He enjoyed them until a rooster let loose with a big round of "cock-a-doodle-doo" and then he said, "Scared of rooster!" We left that barn.

So we moved on to the turkeys. Which he liked until they started to gobble hysterically, and then he said, "Scared of turkeys!" We left that barn.

Then it was the pigs. Big swine, they were. He was pretty much terrified of them right off the bat. The wet snouts, the deep grunts and snorts...I can understand that one. We left that barn.

The cows? Scared of them. The horses? Scared of them. (Have I mentioned the two-year-old fear phase? I think it's here.)

The goats, though, must have a special place in his heart, because he voluntarily touched one. I showed him how nice they were and he stroked it's back and said, "That's an awesome goat."

So, I guess we should put that farm down-payment on hold and just get a goat for the backyard.

sweeping

I was sweeping the sycamore leaves off my front porch and stairs this afternoon. Andy decided to help. So he got into my pile and started tossing the leaves and dirt over his head, right back onto the porch.

I asked irritably, "Andy, what are you doing?"

He said, "Building a mess."

hack

Andy was coughing hard.

Me: Andy, are you okay? What's in your throat?

Andy: A cough.

misinterpretations

Playground this afternoon.

Andy was in a tunnel crawling around. Another little boy, roughly his age, approached from the other end of the tunnel. They met in the middle. Andy looked at him and then looked at me.

I said, "Andy, honey, please say 'excuse me' and get out of the way."

So Andy looked at this little boy and said, "Excuse me. Get out of the way."

ew

Last night Shawn and I were cleaning up the kitchen whilst Andy piddled around. Shawn was doing the dishes and I went into the living room for some reason. When I returned, Andy had vanished. This is always scary for me, even in the home, because the two main options were the stairs or the vicinity of the very valuable, antique, glass, family china cabinet.

I ran in there. No Andy. I ran up the stairs, afraid he was about to tumble down them and crack his skull open. No Andy. Okay, this is getting scary.

I ran back down to the kitchen and called frantically, "Andy! Andy! Where are you?!?!?"

From under the kitchen table I heard a little voice nonchalantly call , "Eating cat food."

He was. I said, "You're eating cat food!?!?"

He said, in a deadpan impression of me, "Oh great."

school days

This morning. 7:15am.

Me: "Good morning Andy."

Andy, rubbing his eyes: "Hi Mommy."

Me: "Can I get you out of bed and get you ready for school?"

Andy: "No thank you."

humiliation, party of 3

Whenever we're in an airport waiting for a flight, we usually try to run Andy as much as possible, knowing that he'll have to sit relatively still for at least two hours on the plane. On this most recent trip he was a wonderful traveler.

Nonetheless, we ran him hard at the Pittsburgh airport prior to boarding. Actually, he ran us pretty hard. We generally take turns following him around the terminal as he runs in circles and loops around all the other passengers in the waiting area. Sometimes he trips over people and often he's so excited that he makes his hyper monkey noise, but he's never yet failed to amuse the masses of waiting adults. There is always laughter and adoration as people watch him race around and around, and there's generally a bit of laughter at whichever parent is chasing him.

As luck would have it, I was doing the chasing when he decided to slow down and take a look out the window at our airplane. There was a delightful older couple, about my parents' age, sitting next to the window and the lady took a bit of a shining to Andy and began to talk to him.

"What's your name?"
"Where are you flying?"
"Who's that on your tennis shoes?" (Thomas the Train, of course.)

Andy was very articulately answering this lady and they were having a rousing conversation when all of a sudden.....Andy cut the cheese.

He looked at me and began to giggle. There was no doubt in my mind that this lady both heard and understood what had just occurred. I'm sure I turned beet red, but I managed to say, "Andy, please say excuse me honey."

He did. And the lady, bless her soul, continued on with the conversation as though this little boy in front of her hadn't just ripped the world's loudest toddler fart.

"Do you like to run around?"
"Do you like school?"
"Are you going to play on the beach?"

TOOT!

He did it again. The little stinker ripped another one, even louder than the first. This time he didn't just giggle; he guffawed. He cackled at himself.

His laughter was almost as loud as the toot had been. This time the lady closed her mouth and just stared, as did the twenty other people in the immediate vicinity. I looked across the crowd to Shawn, who was slinking down in his chair in utter hysterics. I discreetly pointed to him and indicated that this was all his fault.

I pulled my little Gassy Gus out of there and back to his father. Andy was still chuckling about his fart. My face was hellaciously red and the humiliation was physically palpable in my gut. It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, I think.

misery

One day David and I took Andy in the pool while the rest of the family was out. David had just bought one of those nifty spiral footballs with the foam tail attached and we threw it around in the pool. Sometimes Andy got a hold of it and when he did he bit a chunk of foam out of this thing. It made me really angry and after scolding him a few times I was forced to put him in time out. The poor football lost its nose, but time out didn't seem to affect Andy very much.

Half an hour later we returned to the condo and were drying off on the porch. David went inside the house to find Andy standing there in his diaper with the football in his teeth taking a giant chunk of foam out of it.

Well, David hasn't spent a lot of time around toddlers, nor much time around Andy. He doesn't truly understand the delicate nature of Andy's feelings. He yelled, "Andy! No! Don't eat that football!!!!"

Andy dropped the football in shock and terror. I came in to find him standing there and could visibly see his little heart breaking. His Uncle Davey had yelled at him. I told him to apologize and he did. Then he collapsed into my arms sobbing like he's never sobbed before. He quivered and said, "Mommy I'm ready to go. I'm ready to go. I'm ready to go. I'm ready to go."

He said it at least fifty times, wracked with sorrow. It took him twenty minutes to calm down.

Andy quickly forgave his beloved Uncle Davey and I thought he'd forgotten all about it until that evening when we were back in the pool. Pop heard the story and asked Andy, "Did Davey get angry with you?"

Andy summed it up when he said, "I bit the football. Davey freaked out."

crowd pleaser

During my grandad's funeral, Shawn volunteered to run the hallways of the nursing home with Andy. A two-year-old certainly isn't going to sit through a funeral and shouldn't be expected to. Since Shawn's not a fan of funerals he took Andy around while the service took place, occasionally sticking their heads in the door to watch the slide show or hear what somebody was saying.

Towards the end, they popped in and during a particularly quiet moment of prayer lead by the reverend, Andy looked out at the crowd and announced, "Daddy pooped!"

Thank God it wasn't me.

underage

Down at the condo David went to the fridge and helped himself to a Yuengling. Andy followed him in and stuck his head in the fridge and said, "I need beer."

admissions

We've been in Fort Myers Beach for a week. My grandad died and we all hustled buns to get down for the funeral. It was a hard week but Andy kept everybody, most of all my grandmother, laughing.

One day we came in from the pool and I quickly stripped his bathing suit and swim diaper off of him and left him on the porch. I ran in to the bedroom to fetch a dry diaper and came out to find him standing in the living room, naked.

"I peed on the rug."

And he surely had.

Later, he recounted to the story to his grandparents and threw in an exclamation I must have said when I was cleaning it up. They were in their room getting ready for dinner and Andy went in and said, "I peed on the rug. Aww great!"

sunday morning

We sat and watched cartoons. Andy bounced around on and off the furniture, as he always does. He gets really riled up; Sunday was no exception.

There was a discarded toddler sock lying on the floor. He picked it up and shoved it up against my nose and said, "Peeeee-yew!"

I tried to control my laughter and said, "Andy, don't put that sock in my face!"

So he put it on my head and ran off.

million dollar baby

Andy stunk.

I suspected there was a surprise waiting for me in his diaper.

I inspected him and said, "Eeew!"

At the top of his lungs he yelled, "Jackpot!"

i don't understand this at all

If you've read the blog, or the photo blog, you're familiar with Booba. (He used to be "Boomba" but about 8 months ago Andy changed his name to Booba.) Booba is a little stuffed bunny that's supposed to be the Goodnight Moon bunny. From an early age he's been Andy's security blanket. Booba used to go everywhere with us; now Booba has become a bed rabbit 99% of the time. Andy's happy to leave him in his crib and return to him for his naps and at bedtime.

He also gets a lot of wicked pleasure out of smashing Booba, stamping on Booba, and slamming Booba into walls. If you've read the Velveteen Rabbit that you'll know that Booba sees this is a sign of love. I hope.

Long ago I got smart and went out and bought a backup Booba. Boy was I glad I did. We've spent many a night searching for Booba #1 after putting Andy to bed with #2. Then one of the Boobas was lost for a few months, so we went out and got Booba #3. Eventually we found him under the couch in the attic. I haven't the foggiest idea how he got there but these toys have a way of getting into weirdo places.

So, now we have three Boobas. Two of them reside in the closet and one steps up to the plate. Lately he's started showing a preference for one of the Boobas. However, that preference changes from day to day. On Monday he might want #2, and on Tuesday I might hand him #2 and he asks for #3. I'll put him down, hand him a Booba and he'll hand it right back and say, "Put it in the closet." So I have to put that Booba in the closet and bring out one of the other two.

And he looks at the new [yet exactly the same] Booba and smiles with delight like I've just handed him a thousand dollar bill. And then he cuddles up and goes to sleep.

Last night in particular was so weird, because I put him in bed with a Booba. Now these three Boobas can only be told apart by the pattern of grime on their pajamas. That's it. Otherwise identical. The lights were off and I was walking out the door and he said, "Mommy!"

I came back in and asked him what he needed and, still in the dark, there was his little arm reaching up with Booba. He said, "Put him in the closet. Get a better Booba."

I can't understand how he could even tell which Booba he had. Poor Shawn remembered that one of the other Boobas was in the basement so he went all the way down there to get it. Meanwhile I discovered the third one on the floor in the dark. We gave Andy one of the them and in the light from the doorway he inspected the new Booba and said, "It's a better Booba!"

And then it was over and he lay down.

invasion

We've had an invasion. The winged varmints are again back in our house.

Bats.

As I write this the Critter Control guy is installing screens on the inside of our chimneys.

We've had two this August, and that's two too many for Shawn. He's absolutely horrified by bats. When we were dating he pretended he wasn't afraid of them, that he was all macho and manly and able to rid the premises of the flying vermin.

Well, that was a lie.

When I was 8 months pregnant there was a bat snoozing on our foundation by our back stairs. Not sick, not dangerous. Just snoozing. Thinking I'd married this amazing bat-catcher, I asked him to take care of it and get it off the house. You know, since I was pregnant and all.

I came outside 20 minutes later to find Shawn standing there with a bucket in his hand, quivering, trying to work up the nerve to put the bucket over this bat and haul him off to the bushes.

To make a long story short, Shawn generally hides in another room with a tennis racket shouting encouraging statements my way until I lose my own nerve and call my father to deal with it.

"Good job honey."
"Yeah, that's it."
"Keep doing what you're doing."
"Why don't you call your dad?"

Where is this leading and what does it have to do with Andy?

Two nights ago our second bat arrived. Bat No. 1 showed up after Andy was asleep, so he missed the screeching and hollering and wild waving of tennis racket and broom. But this time he and Shawn were playing in his room before bed when the Beast showed up. I quickly was able to shut the bat in our computer room and it fluttered around and around and around, crashing into things, hanging on my drapes, and sometimes crawling across the floor like a tarantula.

I had no choice but to be the man and deal with the intruder myself. Shawn went into panic mode and promptly wet himself. I mustered my courage and covered my head with a towel and went crawling into the computer room on my belly and opened the screen so the bat would fly out. As I made my way back to the door and shut it behind myself, I heard the screen slam shut. It's an old house. Things are loose. Dammit, I thought.

We did come up with another approach which involved Shawn going out onto the roof and punching in the screen from the outside (and then running away). It was a lot of huffing and puffing and squealing and climbing and terror.

And through it all, Andy was running around in circles, or sitting in his father's arms shouting, "Come 'ere batty! Come 'ere batty! Come 'ere batty!"

Perhaps next time we'll let Andy deal with it.

rage-a-holic

Andy's been mad at Shawn lately. Maybe it's because Shawn takes him to school in the morning and drops him off. I don't know, but he's had a bad attitude with his father.

Yesterday at 9pm Shawn asked, "Andy, are you ready for your bath?"

He gave Shawn the usual response: "No way!"

Shawn said, "Tough!" and picked him up and started to carry him up the stairs.

Andy burst into tears and said, "Don't like Daddy!"

sitting in the tub

He was in the tub and things were just a little too quiet for my taste.

"Andy, what are you doing son?"

"I'm peeing."

i promise this happened

I was just feeding Andy his dinner. Or rather, he was eating blueberries one by one and I was leafing through the new Victoria's Secret catalog. When I put it down to dig up a napkin, Andy pointed to the models on the brassiere page and said,

(and I quote)

"Look at all the boobs."

reminiscence

A few weeks ago Shawn took Andy to visit his great-grandparents in Caldwell, Ohio for the annual Fireman's Festival. Andy loves fire trucks and firemen. It was a perfect fit because the parade of fire trucks went right past their house and he was able to sit comfortably on the porch and watch the scene and catch candy. Shawn said the parade went on for an hour and a half and Andy sat through the entire thing. That's saying something for a two-year-old. It's a testament to how much he adores fire trucks.

One of the last trucks in the parade was a big semi. Apparently he was excited to see it and ran to the curb to wave to the driver. The driver saw him and blew his horn. Well, this scared the living hell out of Andy, who shrieked, ran to the house and begged his father to let him hide inside.

Fast forward to today, over two weeks later. We were in the car and saw a similar big truck on the road. Andy began to remember his adventure at the Fireman's Festival. I said, "Andy, did you see fire trucks down with Pap pap?"

His response: "Saw big truck. Scared of it. Freaked out."

bossy

Andy used to need some work on his manners.

For example, when you were in his way, he came up to you and shoved you and said, "Move it!"

Now he's quite a little gentleman.

He came up to me yesterday, shoved me and said, "Excuse me."

oops

Andy received some ABC blocks for his birthday. The A block has an apple and the B block has a bumble bee and so forth.

"Andy, what starts with B?" I made the sound: "Buh....."

He said, "Bee." Then he said, "Bus." I was so proud of him.

Then I got the A block and made the sound. "What starts with aah?"

He said, "Ass."

birthday

On the morning of Andy's second birthday I heard him wake up, went into his room and sang "Happy Birthday" to him. He was down in his crib rolling around with his blanket and his bunny, Boomba.

I said, "Andy, it's your birthday!"

He looked up and said, "Cake."

fungus amungus

This morning we were reading one of Andy's picture books and there was a picture of some mushrooms. Andy recognized them, pointed to them and said, "Mushrooms".

I said, "Yes. Mushrooms." And then explained to him that when we see mushrooms in the yard, we kick them. (I came up with this so he can have fun kicking up wild mushrooms, rather than being tempted to eat them.)

He looked at me questionably and I repeated, "We kick mushrooms when we see them!"

His face immediately clouded up and he started to cry. I asked him what was wrong and he said, tearfully, "Kick mushrooms...."

He felt sorry for them.

big weekend

It was indeed a big weekend. We took Andy to the cabin at Piedmont Lake for an overnight. He's been before, but he was a one-year-old. This summer he's a two-year-old. And it makes all the difference.

He caught his first fish. (With a little help from Daddy.) This is huge, because Shawn lives to fish and has been waiting to catch a fish with his son since we saw the wiener on the ultrasound screen. Andy also has no fear of the water and, with his life jacket safely on, leaped right off the end of the dock, which is over two feet above the water. It's a big leap.

The cutest part of the weekend was his first kayak ride. Saturday evening I put his life jacket on and plopped him between my legs in my kayak and we went for his very first paddle. Whenever I stopped he said, "Keep paddling!" and pointed out every other boat on the lake. I couldn't see his face but Shawn said he was beaming.

We were just paddling back to the dock when he suddenly exclaimed, "I love boats!"

insulted

I'm sitting here on the couch next to Andy, who just pointed to me and said to his father, "Mommy has a moustache."

Seriously? Should I be waxing?

say this

This is Dunkleosteus.

He's in Squirty's new dinosaur book. It has magnets. Andy loves it. Of course it's filled with big words, and Andy loves to hear them.

On Saturday night, smart aleck Uncle Phil said, "Hey Andy, can you say 'dunkleosteus'?" And then he laughed.

Andy didn't even look up at Phil; he just said, "Dunkleosteus", and kept on playing.

daddy slipped up

And I know this because when I came downstairs last evening Andy was running around in a tight circle chanting, "Aw sh*t! Aw sh*t! Aw sh*t!"

I said, "Andy! What are you saying?!?"

He stopped running and said, "Dammit."

Shawn was red as a beet.

Now how do I undo this?

cellist in the backseat

On the way home from Walmart today, Andy was in the backseat talking to himself. I couldn't quite hear what he'd said, so I said, "What honey? What did you say?"

He looked up from the book he had on his lap and said, "Yo Yo Ma."

Maybe we're watching too much Seinfeld?

gross

Andy has a thing for rocks. He just loves them. He particularly loves gravel. Any time we walk on our alley behind our house he stops every 15 feet to pick up a handful of tiny rocks and throws them. (And then gets yelled at for throwing rocks, obviously.)

Yesterday my friend Kate and I took him to the zoo. All was going well. He'd found some gravel here and there and shoved his hand into it, thought about throwing it, and then put it down when I spoke sharply to him. Then we got to the goat pen.

And what do goats do? They poop. A lot.

Do you know what goat poop looks like?

It looks like gravel.

As he said, "Rocks!" and his hand reached for the pile of "goat gravel", the shriek I let out was probably heard for half a mile. He jerked his hand back in terror, looked up at me with a quivering lip and burst into tears. All the other mothers laughed hysterically. That made him even more upset because he thought they were mocking him.

It was as close a call as they come.

imitation is....scary

Yesterday I was standing at the bathroom mirror messing with my hair. Andy came into the bathroom and started rooting through the drawers. He does this a lot, but I prefer it to his other bathroom activity: standing on the toilet throwing Tums on the floor.

I was pretty intent on my hair-ironing, and it was quiet, though I could feel him at my feet. I finally looked down to see what he was doing.

He was sitting on the bathmat holding a [capped] disposable razor. He was running it up and down his legs.

That doesn't bode well.

it was too quiet

And when I went in there, he was running his trains through the litterbox.

commands

Andy talks a lot. A lot.

The thing that Shawn and I find the funniest is his repertoire of commands.

It started out a few months ago with a few: Grab it, take it, have it, hold it.

Grab it = grab that and give it to me.
Take it = take this from my hand.
Have it = I want that.
Hold it = Hold it for me - or possibly - I want to hold that.

He's really mastered the two-word command.

Here's his current list of commands that we hear on a daily basis:

Grab it
Take it
Have it
Hold it
Pick it
Snatch it
Throw it
Drive it
Kiss it (he holds out whatever body part he's hurt in my face and says, "Kiss it!")
Scratch it
Hug it
Wipe it
Carry it
Climb it
Slide it
Slice it
Stab it (this is a fork thing)

I'm sure there are more that I can't remember. Sometimes Shawn and I will crack ourselves up just repeating this list to each other, in the same bossy tone that Andy uses when he orders us around.

i'm confused

Andy's chocolate milk cup is in "time out" right now. He asked me to put it there because he was mad at it.

I wonder what the chocolate milk did to him...

a kinder, gentler bumper sticker

On my birthday Andy came into the dining room and announced to the family, "Happened!" (This is code for "Something happened.")

We all said, "What happened Andy?"

"Cake."

Cake happens, I guess.

bawling

I asked him why he was bawling.

He said, "Spider."

I asked, "Where was the spider?"

He said, "On the muffin."

after a romp in the dewey grass...

...his feet were covered in clippings and dirt.

David said, "Andy, what's on your feet?"

Andy looked down and then up at his uncle. "Toes."

chocolate milk

Andy's become obsessed with chocolate milk. I wish I'd never given it to him because now he asks for it constantly. I try very hard to make him drink a cup of white milk first, and with meals, but I'm not always 100% successful. After all, I'd rather he get the calcium plus a little chocolate than no calcium at all.

The little stinker's smart about it too. His sippy cups are opaque, but they're transparent on the bottom. So one day when Shawn tried to trick him and poured white milk into the cup instead of chocolate, Andy grabbed it, flipped it upside down, inspected the bottom of the cup, and handed it back to his father, saying, "Chocolate milk!" Now, when we give him a drink, he always checks the bottom of the cup to be sure he's getting what he asked for.

This morning, I gave him his white milk with his pancakes. After a few sips, he said, "Chocolate milk!" and handed me the cup. For a few minutes I stuck to my guns and said, "Andy you have to finish your white milk first." He countered with, "No white milk! No white milk!"

Well, we must have had this argument before, because when I gave up and took the milk to the kitchen to add the chocolate, I heard him say, "Chocolate milk! Chocolate milk! Alright alright ALRIGHT! Alright baby! Hang on!"

Little twerp. Sounded just like me, too.

uffins

Andy loves muffins.

And, Andy loves puffins.

Problem is, he seems to get them confused. When we read his animal book, he points to the Artic birds and says, "Muffins!" When we make blueberry muffins for dinner, he says, "Puffins!"

While in Florida, he frequently asked for puffins. So Shawn would wander down to the 7-Eleven on the corner and buy him a blueberry muffin. He obviously remembers this, because just now we were reading his animal book and came to the page with the puffin.

He pointed to the picture, and said, "Daddy buy puffin! Very yummy!"

muskovy

At Naples Zoo last Thursday (formerly Jungle Larry's, site of many a great childhood memory for me), we took the lad around to see the sights. There were roos, tigers, panthers, monkeys, parrots....the general zoo thing.

Halfway through our tour we stopped to feed some ducks. They were muskovy ducks, the ugly turkey-duck things you always see in Florida. Shawn got a handful of food and started to feed them. They were quite brazen, obviously used to being hand-fed.

Then we gave Andy a few pieces of food. He held his little hand out to the duck.

And of course the duck bit his finger.

Not hard, really. Just a snappy duck bite. I don't think ducks even have teeth.

He started to cry and said, tearfully, "Finger! Duck bit! Duck bit finger!"

In a flash I remembered my mom's story from my own childhood, of a similar incident, and said to my son exactly what she said to me almost 30 years ago.

"Andy! The ducky kissed you! He kissed your finger! What a nice ducky!"

And I'll be damned, it worked.

He stopped crying, smiled, and said, "Ducky kiss! Nice duck!"

And then it was over.

mutterances

We were sitting on the porch of the condo on Ft. Myers Beach the other morning.

Andy was sitting in a chair, ink pen in hand, drawing on the glass-top table, muttering to himself, "No don't do that no don't do that no don't do that."

30,000 feet

Last week, we flew to Fort Myers Beach for a little family vacation. No grandparents, no visitors, just us. We needed it.

Luckily on the flight down, the plane was only half full and Andy was able to have his own seat. It was incredibly helpful as he is no longer really able to hold still on our laps. He behaved very well, as well as any almost-two-year-old can be expected to.

Towards the end of the flight he insisted upon getting out of his seat. I told Shawn to let him run up and down the aisle at the rear of the plane for a few minutes since we were the only people back there. When his feet touched the floor he immediately headed for the food service area at the far rear, where the flight attendants do their thing. The flight attendant barked at him and Shawn and sent them away. Shawn said, "Sorry buddy, but it's against the law for you to be back there." And he put Andy back in his seat.

Andy's face clouded instantly. He started to cry and reached for me. I asked, "What's wrong honey?"

He pointed to his father and said, "Mad! Kill Daddy!"

Wow.

I have no idea where he got the phrase "Kill Daddy". Well, almost no idea anyway....

he said it

"I wuv you Mommy."

And of course, I wasn't even there to hear it.

$$$pig$$$

Andy loves to feed his piggy bank. It all started about 6 or 7 months ago when he started finding change lying around. Naturally being just over 1 year old, the coins went directly to his mouth. So, being the brilliant young mother that I am, I taught him about the piggy. I told him that we feed coins we find to the piggy. After that, he was thrilled to be able to feed his pig. And now, whenever he finds a coin he comes running with it saying, "Piggy! Piggy! Piggy!"

So yesterday when he found a penny and asked for the pig, I figured I'd gather up all the change I could find and keep him occupied for a few minutes. We went to Daddy's desk, collected everything except the quarters (he says they're for parking meters, but I think they're for the snack machine) and took it all to the pig. Andy's already familiar with quarters since he has a stash at his grandparents' house.

He held up a penny and I told him what it was. He repeated "penny." He held up a nickel and we did the same thing.

Finally he held up a dime. I said, "It's a dime".

He said, "Baby quarter."

Makes sense to me.

for the love of ed

The basement renovation has begun. We're very excited. There's 40 hours of hammering, drilling, boring, and cementing every week as a new wall goes up, a new bathroom is built, appliances are moved, etc etc etc.

The work is being done by our friend, Van, who has performed every construction project on our family's homes since 1984. But, being a busy man, Van doesn't do the daily work any longer. Byron and Ed do the work.

And so begins Andy's love affair. Andy loves Ed.

Ed is older, a bit gruff, no-nonsense and very talented. (Byron is too, but he says perhaps 3 words a day so Andy doesn't get as much fodder from him.) Perhaps it's because "Ed" is easy for a toddler to say. I don't know. But after the first few days, Andy started talking about Ed. Sometimes it would be incoherent babble punctuated by the word "Ed" here and there. Clearly, the man had made an impression.

Now, at the end of the second week of construction, Ed is firmly ensconced in Andy's mental framework. In the morning we go downstairs to see Ed and Andy chirps, "Hi Ed!" over and over as we go down the stairs. At the end of the day when Ed walks to his car, Andy calls, "Bye Ed!" over and over and waves.

Meanwhile, we've been spending a good deal of time with my friend Kate. We went to high school together and reconnected last summer. She's very helpful with Andy and fits right into our routine without a hitch. It's great.

The thing is, Andy is so in love with Ed that Kate is having to fight to make her identity known. Simply put, Andy calls her Ed. When we meet somewhere and we walk in the door, Andy waves to Kate and says, "Hi Ed!" When we leave, Andy calls, "Bye Ed!" It drives her nuts.

The other day we had a late breakfast at Tim Horton's. As Andy ate his croissant, he babbled to Kate about Ed. And when she went to the restroom, Andy began to look around the restaurant and point to other customers. It took me a minute to realize he was pointing to each person, waving, and saying, "Hi Ed!"

That's right. Everybody in Tim Horton's restaurant on Monday April 7th, 2008 was named Ed.

What a coincidence!

time out issues

We're having a bit of a problem at our house.

What do you do when you're kid is rotten?

You put him in Time Out.

But therein lies said problem.

What do you do when your kid thinks Time Out is awesome?

Today Andy reverted back to his old water spitting habit. I thought we were done with that, but it's back with a vengeance. And it's ticking me off.

At his Meme's house today, he spat water all over her couch after I'd specifically told him not to. I said, "Andy, no spitting water! Do I need to put you in Time Out?"

He smiled and said, "Yeah!"

Oh crap, I thought. Now what?

"Do you want to go in Time Out, Andy?"

"Yeah!"

Okay, so at this point I have no choice but to put him in Time Out. I can't make it an empty threat.

So I said, "Okay, you're going to Time Out because you're spitting water." I took him into a quiet room and faced a chair towards the wall. I put him in it and told him why he was in Time Out. Then I walked away where he couldn't see me.

He sat in the chair for a few seconds, then turned around, craned his neck until he could see me, waved at me and said, "Hi Mommy!"

I bit my tongue so I wouldn't laugh, turned him back around in his chair and stepped away again. When I returned after about 10 seconds (he's not even two...more than 10 seconds would be a stretch) he happily said, "Hi!" again, hopped down and toddled off.

The entire episode was a flop.

cvs

After a long day of battling the flu and a visit to the doctor, we arrived at CVS to pick up some cough medicine for Andy.

We walked in the door of the store.

Andy looked around.

"Oh my God", he said dramatically.

andy speak

"Take."

Please take what is in my hand; I do not want it and I refuse to set it down myself. You will take it and like it.

"Put."

I want you to put this *here* and not touch it. -OR- I am putting this here. Don't touch it.

"Grab."

Give me that. I can't reach it or I'm too lazy to try. Grab it for me!

fleurs

Last evening we were enjoying the warm evening on the porch swing. Andy toddled off the porch over to Meme's budding flowers. Amidst the shoots were hundreds of lovely little purple flowers that I'm certain fall into the "weed" category. He spent ten minute poring over them and then plucked one blossom and ran excitedly back over to me. He said, "Take!" and put the purple flower in my hand, then said, "Flower." And smiled.

And my heart melted. For the first time my son gave me a flower. I hugged him, kissed him, and thanked him.

Five minutes later he took it back and ran off with it.

duh, mom

A few weeks ago I was doing something in the bathroom when Andy came running in with some sort of organic plant material all over his head. It looked like bark or mulch or something.

I said, "Andy, what in the world is on your head?"

He looked at me matter-of-factly and said, "Hair."

aw, hell

Andy spends the night at his Grandma Diane's house every other weekend. He adores her and she adores him. And it gives us a break to do fun things or necessary chore things, or relaxing things.

Sometimes, his parroting nature causes trouble. Little ears are always listening.

Yesterday we walked in the door of her house to pick him up.

I exclaimed, "Hi, Andy!"

He looked up casually from the car he was playing with and said, "Dammit!"

surprise exclamations

I just changed Andy's diaper.

I opened the diaper to see the severity of what I was dealing with, and said, "Wow, Andy."

He said, "Whooooo doggy!"

energy vampire

I swear, my kid is a succubus.

I wake up in the morning and from the moment I lift him out of his crib, I am serving him. I am devoting every waking moment - save for one or two on the toilet - to his needs, wants and whims. Yesterday was a whirlwind of activity and I spent even more time attending to him than I normally do. I didn't get my quiet two hours in the early morning when he plays with his trains and I drink coffee and read the news. Yesterday we had his Kindermusik class at 9am and from there the day unfolded in a long string of outings, public bum-wipings and debit card swipings. I got a little less than two hours while he napped and then it was back in the saddle. He was a good boy, but he really did become an energy vampire.

At 4pm we were in his room, the evidence of his tornadic activity all over the floor. I was lying in a pile of his dirty laundry, which he'd removed piece by piece from his hamper. I had 16 crayons at my feet and several pieces of paper on which were drawn bunnies and balloons and anything else he wanted to see. Many of the crayons had been beheaded by his teeth. There was yet another pile of Q-tips in the corner - I have no idea where he's getting these things but he throws them everywhere. And as I was reading him a story he toddled over to his bag of pizza-flavored Goldfish (the snack of champions) and held it upside down and shook until they all came out on the carpet. And of course we have a plethora of toys too, generally little wooden ones that are just the right size for ankle-spraining.

So this is the scene.

I put on his Kindermusik cd and we listen to some music. By and by he brings me a book. "Dr. Duck" to be exact. (I picked it out at the library for him last week while he ran up and down the shelves throwing books on the floor. I of course had the pick them up and re-learn the Dewey Decimal System, which schooled my ass. Anyway, after almost a week I want to freaking kill Dr. Duck because I've read it so many times.)

So I'm lying on my belly in the dirty laundry pile and he's sitting next to me. We're reading, and then my favorite little Kindermusik song comes on and I stop for a moment, turn my head 90 degrees to the left to look at him and sing to him.

And he frowns, reaches out, shoves my head 90 degrees back to the Dr. Duck book, and says, "Read".

Ah, gratitude.

mess

I had a nice, relaxing shower this morning, until I realized how quiet it was. That's never a good sign. Gone are the days when Andy sits quietly in the bathroom while I shower. Now I close all the gates and let him have the run of the upstairs, and hope that he doesn't find some way to kill himself while I'm shaving my legs.

I got out of my shower and there he was, standing in the bathroom doorway. He had 7 Q-tips in his little hands. I said, "Andy, what did you get into?" He ran off to his room.

I toweled off and put on my robe. As I rounded the corner, there he was in his room, on his floor, surrounded by 500 Q-tips.

I exclaimed, "Andy! What did you do!?"

He looked up at me, smiled, and said, "Mess."

first sentence!

Are you ready? Huge thing, here, people.

"Qwirll (squirrel) go up tree!"

kiss daddy

We were saying goodnight to Andy just a few minutes ago. Every night we say goodnight to the things on his mantle ("Goodnight plant, goodnight snowman, goodnight wooden ducks...") and a few other things in the room. Then we hug him goodnight and put him in his crib.

Well, about 4 months ago he learned (as I've mentioned below) that asking for extra Mom hugs is a great way of stalling. That, coupled with his anti-Dad stance of late makes it hard for poor Shawn, though he generally does get a hug at the last minute.

Tonight we said goodnight to everything on the mantle. We said goodnight to the mist (aka the humidifier). He asked for a hug from Mommy. I hugged him. Then I told him to hug his daddy.

Shawn picked him up and he said, "Oh no no no no Daddy!"

pay the toll

As we were playing with Andy's choo choo trains, I took a minute to sit on the stairs next to the train table. Andy walked around it in circles, fascinated with his little miniature Thomas the Trains. After a few minutes, I barred his way with my leg and said, "You must pay the toll. The toll is one kiss!"

He looked down at the choo choo in his hands and then held it up to my lips.

what's in your pants?

Andy is just starting to grasp the basic meaning of going potty. He's not ready for potty training yet, but he is well aware of the process of the bodily function. And now he can tell me what's going on.

So I'll ask him: Andy, honey, what's in your pants?

And he'll look at me, matter-of-factly, and say: Poop!

The thing is, he started faking me out and I'd go running over with a new diaper and wipes and strip him down and it would be a complete lie; there was no poop.

So now I double check: Andy, is there poop in your pants?

Andy: Yeah. (Think Rain Man 'yeah')

Me: Is there really poop in your pants?

Andy: No.

Basically I think I'm going to have to keep checking for myself, because I never get a straight answer.

tantrums

Screaming on the floor.

Me: Mommy isn't going to pick you up if you're screaming, Andy.

Andy: Come on!

bedtime

Qwerty loves his bath. Then we pull him out and he gets mad. And then we diaper him while he squirms. Once we get his jammies on, he gets up and runs off. He and Dada play the boogie man game for a while, and then we calm him down. When we say, "Okay Andy, night night time," he gets up and runs out the door.

It's so cute.

When Shawn picks him up to put him in his crib Andy holds out his arms to me and cries. He pretends he wants a Mama hug; he really just knows the act will buy him another 30 seconds before the big sleep. Stinker.