Batteries fix everything

P is 3 now. I need to change the name of my blog. The conversations are more logical and filled with "guess what, why, and what is that." He chatters constantly and at his 3 year well-check with the doctor asked if he was stringing words together to make sentences I couldn't help but laugh. Of course at the well-check he didn't say a word. He may be a chatter box and only slightly shy, but he is no performing monkey and we can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do.

We stopped at the gas station the other day and one of the pumps had the cheesy shopping bag over the nozzle. Does every gas station every where do that or just here? Of course I didn't see it until I started to pull through (I'm a good courteous gas-getter and pull up to the first pump so that someone can pull in behind me). I had to swing the car around and find another, usable pump. Que question central from the back seat.

P: "Why we have to move?"

Me: "That one is broken; we have to go to a different one"

P: "Why go to dif'rent one?"

Me: "That one is not working."

P: "It just need batteries that all"

Me: "Oh really"

P: "Yep, batteries fix it."

A few days later, something else wasn't working in the house. It was nothing batteries could fix I can assure you. I think one of his fire trucks is on it's dying leg as far as sound is concerned.

He comes running out of his room
P: "Mama, it no workin"
Me: "What's wrong with it."

P: "See it no working"

He puts it down on the end table and takes off to that previously hidden battery location.

P: "I go get battery"

Me: "P, batteries aren't going to fix it"
He stops mid-run and matter-of-factly tells me

P: "Dah-ee put batteries in it and make it work."

He also needs batteries when he's out of energy. I'm not kidding you he will tell me that "I need en-er-gee, get me battery"

When did our world become so electronically and battery dependent that even a now 3 year old is convinced that's what keeps everything going?

"Wash my feets"

My baby will be 3 in less than a month! Those conversations with a 2 year old are already starting to change. We have reached the “why” and “what’s that” stage and when I use a word or phrase he doesn’t know he asks “what that mean, mama?”



Sadly, this is not the bathroom at our house

He has it in his head that he is much older and more mature than he should be. His latest thing is showering by himself. I turn on the water, suds up his scrubby, and help him take his shirt off and he pops right over the side and into the tub. I just have to sit on the closed toilet lid and listen to his sing song voice.

“Wash my feets”

“Wash my legs”

“Wash my booty”

“Wash my pee pee”

“Wash my belly”

“Wash my arms”

“Wash my hair”

I do have to step in and remind him to get under his arms and under his chin and then I wash his back. He needs a little supervision in the rinsing aspect. He prefers to play in the stream of water instead of making sure all of him has been washed clean of the soap.

We also adjusted his Power Wheels 4-wheeler so that he has full access to turtle and bunny speed. I was immediately reminded of a Mario Cart character when he started zipping around. It even sounds the same. Surprisingly he’s good at driving, evading, and stopping. He only ran over my foot and I don’t think that was totally on accident. He has to wear a helmet though so if you see him riding at our house he’s sporting his helmet while zipping around the cul-de-sac. Safety first, no arguments.

Thank you Bubble Guppies

I'm not really sure just how much Bubble Guppies has to do with it, but honestly if you lived in my neighborhood earlier you would have seen a 2 year old running in circles in the driveway wearing nothing but a t-shirt, pull-up, and carrying a shoe while chanting "circles, circles, circles." Throw in a few "circles with my shoes" in this chant and we are all out party.

It all started with a Bubble Guppies (or Buh Puppies, if you prefer the way it is referred to around here) song about lining up to go outside. It's kinda catchy and hip hop and when a two year old sings it is summed up as "line up, line up, outside." That is how we got outside. (Aren't the little Bubble Guppies cute?)

Running in circles ensued, with both the garage door and myself getting lots of waves and "hi's"All of a sudden he stopped....a bird, a swallow to be precise, was flying over. "Oh, look mama, bird go in circles like P does." I just nod and smile my agreement. "Watch at bird mama, watch fly in circles."

"I'm watching P," I tell him. He looks at me seriously, "bird has wings to fly fly fly really high," as he's flapping his arms like wings. Then the bird does it, the bird flies over the house on one of the loops. You would think we were at an acrobatic air show. "Wow, mama, mama, the bird flew over my new house," and he starts giggling uncontrollably. The giggling turns into sprinting in circles again.

All in all at least I can proudly say that my son knows what a circle is, recognizes birds and that they have wings, and can associate that someone/thing is doing something like he is. I'm so proud, even if all of this was done in his underwear out for everyone to see.

He finished his night with playful roughhousing, collapsed between us and said "I love you guys."

He just told me he wants to go to the Yo Gabba Gabba place. I think it is time for bed.

Awwww P.....

You hear "Awww P" a lot at our house. It's the term of endearment when P does something that isn't exactly copacetic. Some days potty training goes well; some days we go through a lot of Buzz Lightyear and Gabba Gabba undies.                                                             

Tonight before snack

Me: P do you need to go potty?

P: No I no potty.

Me: P you need to go potty; let's go to the potty.

cue meltdown

P: No go potty; no go potty

Me: Ok if you potty in your pants I'm going to swat your booty. (It's an empty threat; I have yet to swat him for pottying in his pants even though I tell him that every time he refuses to go potty then has an accident.)

A little while later I'm loading the dishwasher and P is playing trucks in the middle of the living room. I hear "awwww....P" which of course made me giggle and ask him to repeat himself. Does this mean we've given our child a complex now that he recognizes when he does something we would find less than ideal? I walk in and he immediately says "no spank my booty" followed by "look a tree." His puddle on the sand colored living room carpet did look remarkably like a palm tree. He strolled right into the bathroom and finished going to the potty. I did not spank his booty, either, or make him clean the carpet. He likes to clean the carpet so there goes that handy "make them clean their mess" tip from the potty-training gurus. It's worse if I don't let him clean the carpet...and I didn't...let him that is; I still cleaned the carpet. 

If he does good with his potty training at the sitter's then he will get a prize. The prize has never been outlined but he's gotten it into his head exactly what he's getting. On the way to the sitter this morning he was sitting quietly in the back seat when he burst out with "I go potty at Ms. B's I get a prize"

Me: Yes you do; what prize are you going to get?

P: A rabbit

Me: A rabbit?

P: Yep, a real rabbit

I love my creative little boy but that poor rabbit wouldn't survive a day with our dogs. I have no idea where he came up with that, but he's very insistent. I had rabbits when I was a growing up but I'm not so sure they are the ideal pet for a rambunctious 2 year old. I wonder if he would settle for a fish. Do they make Toy Story aquariums? I may be on to something here......

Moving, Flooding, Life

Posts have become few and far between thanks to all that is going on in our world (flooding response at work, buying and moving into a new house, etc). The same can't be said for conversations with P.

During some overtime, can't get away from work for anything hours that I put in in response to the flooding in our area a few weeks ago our sitter took P to the doctor. He was complaining of his ear hurting, his eye was goopy, and I figured while he was there he should have the random spots on his belly check out. He had an ear infection, that's why his eye was goopy, and the spots on his belly are a random virus that has to run it's course (up to 6 months+).

Somewhere in the time of having an ear infection he realized what the term "sick" meant. So this morning I have to go drag him out of bed.

Me: "It's time to get up."
P: "No, I seepin'"
Me: "C'mon you slept in, we've got to go."
P: "No I sick."
Me: "You're sick?"
P: "I says I sick."
Me: "Do you need to go to the doctor?"
P: uncovering and holding his knee "Yes, doctor. My boo-boo owie"
Me: "Well how about doctor mommy kiss it?"
P: "No, go dr. kinz"
He actually wants to go to his doctor.
Me: "Well either way you have to get up and get dressed."
P: "ok"

He even told his dah-ee that he needed to go to Dr. Kinz for his owie. Owie is a week old scab and bruise.

I missed the part in that non-existent handbook that told me the age that kids would figure out they could say they were sick to stay in bed or stay home. Who told my kid that would work?

P's new room in the making:

Spring is here

In our house apparently that means that P starts falling out of the bed. Ok well not that it's a regular occurrence. He fell out once just a few nights ago and he's been in a twin size bed with no rails nor pushed up against any walls. There just so happens to be a table beside his bed which he actually climbs on to get in his bed.

I wake up to a thud and crying at that wonderful hour of 3:00am. Let me tell you, I shot out of bed so fast that I launched an 80 pound Lab across the room. I found P on his knees on the floor holding his head and crying. He cuddled right in when I picked him up, we laid back in the bed, dah-ee brought milk, and we went back night-night. It wasn't until morning and time to start the day that I realized there was dried blood on P's ear and pillow. Things are all right; it was only a flesh wound.

Our morning conversation when something like this....

Me: "P, did you fall out of the bed last night?"

P: "Uh-huh. Like this" cue throwing arms above head and head falling back

P (lying on the floor in the same position I found him): "Then I cry like this; wah-ah-ah-ah"

Just like that...he didn't actually cry again he literally said "wah-ah-ah-ah"

I picked him up again and looked at his ear.

Me: "We need to go clean your ear; it was bleeding"

cue shocked expression on 2 year old's face

P: "Ah, my ear" complete with whiny voice and grabbing of wrong ear.

The next night he did not fall out of the bed, but he did show up in the bed with my husband and I at that lovely 0-3:30 hour. When I went to beg him out of bed in a good mood the next morning I thought I would remind him that he was planting flowers with the sitter. (I'm jealous. I had to spend a beautiful day confined to my office while he got to play in the garden.)

He sat up in the bed without a trace of sleep left in his voice:

P: "I dig dirt shovel?" (We really need to work on adding those little things called articles and prepositions)

Me: "Yes you will get to dig in the dirt with your shovel."

P: "Then I pour water down down down?"

Me: "Yes then you can water the flowers"

P: "No no mama. I pour water down"

Me: "Oh ok, you want to pour the water down?"

P (in the teenager duh mom your stupid tone): "Yes (nods head) I  said pour water down"

If he already treats me like I'm just an adult that has no idea what I'm talking about what's it going to be like in 10 years or so?

The Very Hungry Caterpillar

Who can resist the silly little colorful caterpillar that Mr. Eric Carle has made so popular. This book was P's choice to read to me tonight. That wasn't a typo; you read it right. P reads to me on occasion. This is how the story went.

For an intro or refresher on what the book looks like; the pages are off set.

P starts with Monday: "hungry"
Tuesday: "hungry hungry"
Wednesday: "'til hungry"
Thursday: "eat hungry"
Friday: "'most done"
Saturday: "whoa, very hungry, hurt tummy"
Sunday: we skip
"fat pillar"
"butterfly!"

If you didn't get the drift of P's story. The caterpillar is hungry so he eats and eats, gets a tummy ache, becomes fat, and then turns into a butterfly. A lot of concentration goes into P's "reading" and by no means should anyone interrupt him. I'm so excited that he likes to read and wants to read to us. I grew up loving to read and I hope that it's being passed down. If his silly stories that he creates by remembering bits and pieces of what I've read to him then I think it's a good sign.

"I fix it"

The dreaded Nuk cup. Transitioning P from a bottle to cup could only be done by introduction of the then lifesaver Nuk Learner cup. Don't get me wrong it's a great cup, but now we have to figure out how to get him off of it. He will not drink milk out of anything else. Water, juice, etc it doesn't matter what cup it's in, but you better not hand him milk in anything but his cup. We used to have 4 then 2. Those things are $7 each at Walmart! To get a new spout costs half that and the spout has to be latex. The silicone splits fast. Now this is not a review of the totally awesome lifesaver of a cup.

P was settled in for a movie last night and I was on the couch finishing a book when I hear him call out, "Cup broke mama; cup broke."

Me: "Your cup is broken? Bring it here, let's see" (I'm thinking that the handles popped off the bottom.

Insert pause....I assume he was getting up but it took him a bit longer than expected.

He hands me his cup, empty of milk, and a tiny piece of green. He bit a chunk off the spout. Now thankfully my son isn't a kid that puts stuff in his mouth and is quick to spit out anything foreign. So here I sit on the couch holding a tiny chunk of latex and a cup with a hole in the spout. This is the perfect opportunity to get rid of the cup. I thought.

Me: "P your cup is broken for good. No more cup. We will have to drink milk out of something else. This one needs to go in the trash."

P (standing quietly and thoughtfully for a moment): "I get tape; I fix it" And he runs to the drawer where we keep the tape.

Logically this makes sense. I mean after all we fix lots of things with tape. Usually the flaps to all those books that managed to become detached. I have to call him off the tape and reason with him.

Me: "Tape won't work this time. How will you drink out of it if there is tape over the spout?"

P: "Oh. No fix it."

Me: "Nope, it's trash"

P: "Ok, I throw 'way" And off he goes with the cup and the chunk to the trash can. I found the cup in the kitchen sink, but I guess he really did throw the chunk away or a dog ate it.

One down, one to go. He's not that clueless. He knew there was another cup and he found it before bed last night. Now the dilemma: do I just toss the cup or do I shell out $3+ w/ shipping for a new spout?

Bigger Now?

A variety of things are tucked under P's bed. Mostly underbed drawers contain extra sheets, blankets, and bags that fulfill my need for a chic diaper tote. In the front corner, tucked against his night stand is a Lite Brite. 

 That's right; that wonderful vintage light up board with holes that make those translucent colored pegs glow in whatever shape you choose. I jumped at the opportunity when a co-worker offered her son's long outgrown version to my son. It is the updated "flat screen" model. In hindsight apparently only the child in me thought this was a good plan. I have almost spilled the tiny little pegs more than once, which is what led to being banished to the darkness under the bed in the first place. As a mother of a little boy what in the world was I thinking! I brought a zillion tiny objects into my house to no doubt plague us with a painful step at all hours of the day and night. It's ok though, because P doesn't go under his bed for anything.

Yesterday afternoon I was attempting to have a bit of quiet time sitting on the couch, when I hear a tiny voice from his room. "Mama, what this?" Now he could have been asking about anything. Usually that question is in reference to a leaf, piece of fuzz, or random dog toy that has been unearthed from who knows where. I enter his room and don't see him. Never a good sign. He's not hanging from the ceiling fan or standing on any shelves/bookcases, then up pops his little head from the otherside of the bed. "Come 'ere" he says complete with his pointed gesture.

Can you guess what I found when I walked to the other side of the bed? You bet! It was the Lite Brite. Only a few pieces had escaped the handy little drawer at the bottom of the new improved version and the button had been pushed so the light was on. "See, what this?" he says with his classic quizzical look.

I'm quick to tell him that it's something he can have when he's bigger, scoop up stray pegs and tuck them away, then start trying to quickly cram the still lit Lite Brite back under the bed. He's worried that it's still lit. I can't make it go off! It's on a darn timer so once it's lit it stays that way for an unspecified amount of time. I get it safely tucked under the bed and the bed skirt pulled back down around it. As I start to find something to distract my unforgetful little boy's mind he looks up at me and back at the bed. "I bigger now?" he asks. "Not quite big enough." I tell him. We go on about our day playing with all sorts of things.

Hours later, I'm leaning towards 4 or 5, I find him sitting again on the otherside of his bed. He knows he's not to touch anything so he looks up at me and assertively tells me "I bigger now." "Not quite big enough," again I tell him. Crisis adverted until another day.

I'm torn between letting him play with it supervised with just a handful of pegs or putting it away somewhere else until he truly is "bigger now." Technically every minute later he is in some way bigger and I wonder if he knows that too.

Potty for a Cookie

I have no idea what I've gotten myself into. I like a few cookies with a glass of milk before bed so I picked up a pack of Double Stuff Oreos on sale. Apparently those are a huge motivator for a 2 year old to go potty more. Don't get me wrong; he's been doing good without much motivation. He doesn't care to be wet so put his little booty in a pair of Buzz Lightyear undies and he is conscious enough to go to the bathroom when he needs to. Since he gets the sitting on the potty and has no issue with it if he doesn't go potty but just sit and stand up he gets no praise.

Along came the cookies. He saw me buy them and he saw me put them in the pantry. He promptly opened the pantry and shoved a chair up to reach the shelf. The cookies now reside on the top of the refrigerator in a colorful bowl and will until the mystery of where the cookies went/come from is discovered by his inquisitive mind.

He asked for a cookie and I asked if he would go potty for a cookie. He said yes and we went to potty. He got a cookie. Yesterday he asks for a cookie. I told him no, he needed to go potty to get a cookie. He said ok and walked off. I walk by the bathroom a few seconds later and there he sits on his froggy potty. I'm impressed because the cookie made him take initiative and go by himself. He had to turn on the light, pull down both pants and undies, and I'm pretty sure he would have emptied his potty and pulled up his pants if I wouldn't have walked by to help. I'm all for independence, but when that independence leads to mommy having to clean up more pee than I would out of a leaky diaper I will be resuming a dictatorship. He got his cookie.

Last night he asked again for a cookie. I told him he had to potty for a cookie and off he went to the bathroom. I followed this time. He finishes, stands up, looks in the potty, looks at me, and says "oops, more". Apparently the amount didn't meet his standards. So he sat again, added a little more, and then was ready for his cookie.

This morning he asks dah-ee for a cookie. Dah-ee tells him he has to go potty and off he goes. I help since I was there anyway. The beauty of having only one bathroom to the 3 of us is knowing that it is going to be occupied by at least 1 of us 90% of the time. As soon as he is done, he jumps up and looks at dah-ee, "Cookie now" he asks in his high pitched excited voice.

We've had cookies since Saturday and he's motivated. Had I known this I would have gotten a less messy cookie or at least Oreo minis because my kid will be potty trained, but hopped up on a sugar high.

Stay and play instead

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday my husband works a 12 hour shift on the ambulance. P knows this and will repeatedly ask him, "amps day" Hey he's trying, heck some adults still say "amblance". Today though he told my husband, "dah-ee, no amps day. Help work with hammer." In his little mind daddy should stay home with him today and apparently work all day with the beloved Handy Manny tools. Pat is of course his favorite.

Either of us would much rather stay home today and help him work on stuff with his hammer, read books, watch movies, build blocks, or play endless games of golf, hockey, or a combination of the two which we will call gockey. It's tons of fun to have a plastic golf club fit for a toddler and whack a plastic golf ball back and forth. Forget a hole when you can have a goal. The boy has one heck of a chip shot.

I wish life could be so simple as just saying ok, P, we will stay home today and do whatever you want. Instead we have to say, no we have to finish getting dressed so you can go to the sitter and mama and daddy have to work today. We will have the whole weekend together though. It's just not the same to spend tomorrow playing as it would have been to spend the day playing and give P what he wanted. Such is life.

And now he's dressing himself....

Today should be a day to wear green. It is after all St. Paddy's Day and we certainly don't want any of the kids at the sitter getting a wild idea to pinch. P decided to dress himself today so we let him. His choices: a red and black t-shirt with a race car on it (no green) and camo shorts (with green, but also brown). I drew the line at his shoe choice: lace up snow boots. He doesn't even want to wear those shoes with jeans on any given day, but all of a sudden that's the shoes he wants. He brought them to me and sat on the floor and that's when I had to break it to my bubbly little man that this just wasn't going to work. I told him that his shoes didn't match (forget the fact that nothing he has on actually matched). Oh I had every intention of putting them on just for the amusement factor and sending him with tennis shoes to the sitter. As I unzipped the first boot he took it from me, "No match, mama, no match." He took his boots and put them back in the closet, dug around for a minute, and picked out.........tennis shoes. Yay! They are black, grey, and orange. Since it was cooler this morning we had to convince him to put on some sweats over his shorts. He left the house wearing: black/red t-shirt, brown/green shorts, navy blue sweats, and black/grey/orange shoes. Ahhh...if this is the start of what's to come I'm going to have to start buying neutral clothes to keep my fashionable mind sane.

I know this post is no good without pictures. If he still has on the same clothes when I pick him up this afternoon I will share his amazing fashion sense.

Get That Fire Out!

My husband is a firefighter. When we met 8 1/2 years ago he had just been promoted to Captain of his station and since that time promoted again to Battalion Chief over half of the Districts 12 stations. At 2, our son knows when the pager goes off that Dah-ee is going on a call. Many times he grabs his own little radio or my husband's actual pager, jumps in his Fisher Price fire truck, and tells me he's going on a call. He also tells me "I home" and gives me kisses when he gets done with his call. The weekend before last we watched a demonstration at the Home Show put on by the city fire department (sprinkled vs. un-sprinkled residence; sprinklers are a good idea BTW) and P has not forgotten that day and watching the fire. Somewhere along the way he has decided that instead of asking daddy to put out the fire he will tell him to.

Imagine the most serious look a 2 year old can get:

And these words: "Dah-ee, GET THAT FIRE OUT"

It is every bit a demand. What fire? Any fire I suppose. The best part is when J tells him that he will, in the sweetest voice you've ever heard he just says "ok".

On a side note: For the longest time fire trucks were just trucks with lights. He did learn to say fire truck (correctly might I add with not once a slip into accidental vulgarity). Now they range from fire truck, to big truck with lights. He told me the other night he wanted to drive a "big truck with lights" in addition it had to be a "big gween truck"

J's fire department is green trucks and we've instilled in him young that fire trucks should be green. So far the effort at saying Rescue 17 is still a lost cause. It's "Re-sue seen"

Stop it Mama; I sleepin'

It never fails on what is supposed to be a relaxing weekend of lounging in bed until at least 7:00 and hoping to make it until 7:30 or 8:00, P will show up wide-eyed at 6:30. Fifteen minutes of distraction is all we can hope for in an early morning cartoon then it's time to get up.

Now I get up between 6:00 and 6:10 on weekdays and my Fire Chief gets up at 6:30. A few days ago, P arrived in our room around 4:45 or so and climbed in to cuddle with me. I got up at my regular time leaving him sleeping in the bed with dada. 7:00 rolls around and it's time for P to wake up and get dressed. I talk to him, rub his belly, turn on the light, etc and nothing happens. Time to bring out the big guns. He gets kisses. I kiss his forehead, his cheeks, and his nose with him squirming, eyes still closed, in the bed. When I got to his nose he pushed me away and said "Stop it Mama; I sleepin."

I wonder if I can use that excuse next time he tries to wake me up before I feel like it's time?

Up next......I need tips on getting this hat off this duck. Apparently it should come off according to a 2 year old.

Gotta start somewhere.....

In that truly amazing fashion my two year old (P or little P from now on) told me something a few days ago that made me realize I should be writing all of this stuff down. Like all moms I think he's an exceptionally bright little boy with an amazing memory.

Almost 2 months ago, P had climbed into my lap in the recliner after work. Being silly he managed to fall off the side and on the way down grabbed at me. All he got was my new necklace which with 32 pounds of toddler yanking on it promptly broke. P cried because the fall scared him and he cried because he broke mama's necklace. I sat the broken chain aside and put the charm in my jewelry box; both to long be forgotten by me.

A few days ago, P found that broken chain still sitting where I had left it. He told us the story of what happened:

P: Mama necklace?

Me: Yes P, that's mama's necklace.

P: P fall; broke mama necklace

Me: Yes you did, but it's ok.

P: No, P fall off chair and broke mama necklace

At that point he got the saddest look on his face; the bottom lip even started to poke out and he said:

Sowee mama; sowee I broke necklace; sowee mama sowee

I thought he was going to cry and at that thought of course I teared up. I gave him a huge hug and again reassured him it was ok. What I realized is that not only does he have an amazing memory, but at 2 he truly is sorry. As adults we reached a point in our life where we say sorry many times not because we are truly sorry but because that is what has been ingrained in us to say.