Six and a half weeks? Seriously?
I've really been meaning to update this blog, but something about a solid month of temperatures hovering around, say, 4000 degrees has pretty much drained all the life out of me. But I realized that since I wrote last, the One True Child has done a number of blogworthy things, and it's high time I just sucked it up and got back on the computer. That and it's only supposed to be about 86 degrees today. I know that sounds like Early Parenthood, when you say things like "Wow, I just got three whole hours of sleep!" and mean it, but seriously, 86 degrees feels damn near arctic after these last several weeks.
Blogworthy Items of Note:
1. The child decided, completely on his own, that it's time to potty train in earnest. At least on the weekends. Of course, the fact that he gets 3 jellybeans for each successful, ah, 'deposit' doesn't hurt. Apparently, however, he has yet to fully grasp the whole concept of Escalating Rewards, because over the weekend, he was peeing and rather unexpectedly dropped a small brown trout in the potty. I got pretty excited and informed him that when he poops in the potty, he gets a sucker, and you would have thought he won the lottery (of course, pre-potty training, he was more likely to win the lottery than to get that much refined sugar in one sitting, but who's counting?).
He gave me this look that said "Are you KIDDING me? There have been SUCKERS in the offing this whole time and you've neglected to mention that up to this point? I have GOT to instruct my attorney to look at the fine print more closely." He hasn't pooped in the potty since, but I'm just glad he lives such a deprived life that we can get away with offering suckers when other people have to bribe their children with actual nice stuff, like model airplanes and bikes and Roth IRAs.
And while we're on the subject, I have to say that I am frightened by the dizzying array of underwear available for little boys. Boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs. And the licensed characters--good grief. Bob, Diego, Spongebob, Spidey, Mater--I have to bring the Noggin Schedule with me just to figure out who's who. Especially since the preschool has put the big ix-nay on "any characters who fight," which in Little Boy-ese translates to "anyone cool."
However, the most disturbing thing about hunting for boys' unna-pants are the kids on the packaging--they just look so spry and jovial, all hands-on-hips, nubile, clothed in nothing but a pair of spidey tighty-whiteys and grinning charmingly. It totally creeps me out for some reason. Having to spend a lot of time browsing on this aisle makes my tummy feel funny, like at any minute the army of Target's anti-pedophile militia is going to swoop down and ask the guy next to me if it really takes that long for him to find some size 4T spongebob boxers. Ick.
2. He has learned to pedal, which earned him a big-boy bicycle, complete with training wheels. He has not learned to properly operate a coaster brake, which has earned me a number of heart attacks. He has, however, accepted as gospel the fact that "big boys wear helmets on big-boy bikes." Video of the entire bicycling extravaganza coming soon.
3. He is becoming learned at the Art of Manipulation, even at his tender age. Case in point: the other night I had to work late and wasn't going to get home before he went to bed, so we talked a little on the phone, and then he said, in the Most Plaintive Voice Ever, "Come home, Mama."
As I was piecing the shards of my heart back together, Daddymatic explained that D had wanted to go outside after dinner and Daddy had said no, and D suggested we call Mama and ask her to come home so that THEN he could go outside. Because apparently I am a complete pushover wussy-pants. After this information helped lift the crushing weight of guilt off of my chest, I have to say I had a grudging admiration for his keen ability to, well, try to completely play two people who, working together at least, should be able to outsmart him. Well done, indeed.
4. You know how everyone has those incredibly sweet, cloying things that their children say, and you get all jealous because your child is busy saying things like "DON'T say no to me, Mama!" and "I want daddy to put me to bed?" Well, I think D has finally redeemed himself in this area: He's been obsessed with these two videos--especially the "C is for Cookie" one. So then last night, this conversation took place:
Me: What does c-c-cookie start with?
D: Cookie starts with C!!
Me: What does D-D-Davis start with?
D: Davis starts with D!
Me: What does D-D-D Daddy start with
D: Daddy starts wiiiith..I love you!
I was afraid to ask what Mommy starts with, but luckily it appears that Mommy also starts with "I love you," which is good, because for a while there, he was saying things like "You not keeming [screaming] at me, mommy!" in this awed, surprised tone, which made me feel just fantastic, because, I guess, it represents such a departure from my normal MO. Or we'd be looking at his "Mercer Mayer book" at the scene where Mama Monster is clearly comforting Little Monster, and I'd ask what the mommy was saying and he'd say, "She say, NO NO, you get a time out." Outstanding.
So those are my updates. Pictures? Videos? One day soon. *sigh* I mean, at least I'm not keeming, right?
Blogworthy Items of Note:
1. The child decided, completely on his own, that it's time to potty train in earnest. At least on the weekends. Of course, the fact that he gets 3 jellybeans for each successful, ah, 'deposit' doesn't hurt. Apparently, however, he has yet to fully grasp the whole concept of Escalating Rewards, because over the weekend, he was peeing and rather unexpectedly dropped a small brown trout in the potty. I got pretty excited and informed him that when he poops in the potty, he gets a sucker, and you would have thought he won the lottery (of course, pre-potty training, he was more likely to win the lottery than to get that much refined sugar in one sitting, but who's counting?).
He gave me this look that said "Are you KIDDING me? There have been SUCKERS in the offing this whole time and you've neglected to mention that up to this point? I have GOT to instruct my attorney to look at the fine print more closely." He hasn't pooped in the potty since, but I'm just glad he lives such a deprived life that we can get away with offering suckers when other people have to bribe their children with actual nice stuff, like model airplanes and bikes and Roth IRAs.
And while we're on the subject, I have to say that I am frightened by the dizzying array of underwear available for little boys. Boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs. And the licensed characters--good grief. Bob, Diego, Spongebob, Spidey, Mater--I have to bring the Noggin Schedule with me just to figure out who's who. Especially since the preschool has put the big ix-nay on "any characters who fight," which in Little Boy-ese translates to "anyone cool."
However, the most disturbing thing about hunting for boys' unna-pants are the kids on the packaging--they just look so spry and jovial, all hands-on-hips, nubile, clothed in nothing but a pair of spidey tighty-whiteys and grinning charmingly. It totally creeps me out for some reason. Having to spend a lot of time browsing on this aisle makes my tummy feel funny, like at any minute the army of Target's anti-pedophile militia is going to swoop down and ask the guy next to me if it really takes that long for him to find some size 4T spongebob boxers. Ick.
2. He has learned to pedal, which earned him a big-boy bicycle, complete with training wheels. He has not learned to properly operate a coaster brake, which has earned me a number of heart attacks. He has, however, accepted as gospel the fact that "big boys wear helmets on big-boy bikes." Video of the entire bicycling extravaganza coming soon.
3. He is becoming learned at the Art of Manipulation, even at his tender age. Case in point: the other night I had to work late and wasn't going to get home before he went to bed, so we talked a little on the phone, and then he said, in the Most Plaintive Voice Ever, "Come home, Mama."
As I was piecing the shards of my heart back together, Daddymatic explained that D had wanted to go outside after dinner and Daddy had said no, and D suggested we call Mama and ask her to come home so that THEN he could go outside. Because apparently I am a complete pushover wussy-pants. After this information helped lift the crushing weight of guilt off of my chest, I have to say I had a grudging admiration for his keen ability to, well, try to completely play two people who, working together at least, should be able to outsmart him. Well done, indeed.
4. You know how everyone has those incredibly sweet, cloying things that their children say, and you get all jealous because your child is busy saying things like "DON'T say no to me, Mama!" and "I want daddy to put me to bed?" Well, I think D has finally redeemed himself in this area: He's been obsessed with these two videos--especially the "C is for Cookie" one. So then last night, this conversation took place:
Me: What does c-c-cookie start with?
D: Cookie starts with C!!
Me: What does D-D-Davis start with?
D: Davis starts with D!
Me: What does D-D-D Daddy start with
D: Daddy starts wiiiith..I love you!
I was afraid to ask what Mommy starts with, but luckily it appears that Mommy also starts with "I love you," which is good, because for a while there, he was saying things like "You not keeming [screaming] at me, mommy!" in this awed, surprised tone, which made me feel just fantastic, because, I guess, it represents such a departure from my normal MO. Or we'd be looking at his "Mercer Mayer book" at the scene where Mama Monster is clearly comforting Little Monster, and I'd ask what the mommy was saying and he'd say, "She say, NO NO, you get a time out." Outstanding.
So those are my updates. Pictures? Videos? One day soon. *sigh* I mean, at least I'm not keeming, right?
posted by the stefanie formerly known as stefanierj at 10:21 AM
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