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.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
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!
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.
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.
Monday, March 17, 2008
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."
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!"
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!"
Thursday, March 13, 2008
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!"
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.
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.
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