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!"
Sunday, August 17, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
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!"
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."
"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."
(and I quote)
"Look at all the boobs."
Thursday, August 7, 2008
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."
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."
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