Stinky and Sweet

Jamie has been up to his usual tricks. One of my recent favorites was Bailing Out the Toilet. He procured a plastic cup from the bathtub and dipped it into the toilet bowl to extract the water. But he didn't stop there - heavens, no! He then carefully (I can only imagine his slow, toddling steps as he moved down the hallway, cradling the cup in both hands - I didn't actually see this part of it) took the cup into his bedroom and poured its contents onto his bed. This action was repeated a few times (again, I was not privy to this, or else I would have been able to count the number of trips he made. Because you know I would have let this happen in the first place).

It was probably about this point when I, contentedly playing Bejeweled Blitz downstairs, started to wonder what he was up to. So I heaved myself to my feet and went upstairs. My first clue that anything was amiss was the sight of his soaked hair, shirt and pants. And then I saw the bed. In my state of confoundedness I could only surmise that he'd watered the bed, then lay down in it.

Ugh.

He's had other adventures (such as emptying pretty much every drawer he can open), and I was resigned to a life of chasing him around and cleaning up his messes, when he surprised me with a gesture of a completely different nature tonight.

He had just started eating dinner when he hopped down from his chair. "Hey, where are you going?" I demanded from the kitchen, where I was assembling my own dinner. He ignored me and went over to the dish drainer in the sink, where we air-dry plasticware that has gone through the dishwasher. Reaching up on his tiptoes, he fumbled for something. "Cup, cup," he said. Looking over at his seat at the table, I saw that he had a sippy cup of milk already, but I handed him a plastic cup and off he went to the bathroom. He returned shortly thereafter with a small amount of water in the cup and headed back to the table. Ah, he wants water to drink, I thought to myself, and mentally shrugged. But he didn't take the cup to his seat. Instead, he took it... to his sister. We'd forgotten to get her anything to drink; she hadn't said anything to us, but clearly Jamie had noticed the lack. So he got something for her.

I have to say, I was overcome with emotion. He can be such a stinker at times, but when it counts, his heart is definitely in the right place.

Master of the Obvious

Today I had one of those Embarrassing Parental Moments.

Caity needed to go potty while we finishing up our Big Boy brunch, so I took her. While we were washing hands afterward, an old woman entered the bathroom and closed herself into the only stall. Shortly thereafter, an extremely loud, wet fart trumpeted through the air.

"That lady made a big toot!" Caity exclaimed, as I knew she would.

"I know, but it's not nice to talk about it," I softly informed her, trying to remain stern but wanting to howl with laughter. It HAD been a big toot. The kind that I hope to never deliver while in a public restroom.

"It was a really big toot!" Caity insisted.

"It's not nice to talk about," was all I could say as I hustled her the heck out of there.

It's too bad, really, that's it's rude to point out farts and such in mixed company. I know we're supposed to pretend that we didn't hear anything (or, in a worse situation, smell anything), and the person who dealt it is supposed to pretend that they had nothing to do with it. But why? Wouldn't it just be easier for all parties to simply say, "wow, that was a good one," or "nice delivery" and get on with our lives? Instead, the witnesses have to stifle their guffaws and the guilty party has to cringe with shame. And everyone walks around with cramped bowels while in public to avoid such a thing happening to them.

Ah, to be four again and able to observe and report on the happenings of life without being hampered by the boundaries of societal norms!

How did a story about a fart become a introspective, sociological analysis?

Positives and Negatives

Today, for the first time in his life (that we know of, that is), Jamie said the word "yes". Up until this point, his responses to any question - any kind of remark, really - have been "No!" and, more recently, "o-tay". But today he said yes. May this mark a turning point in his outlook on life... a time of positivity and acceptance, instead of negativity and denial.

Speaking of denial, we attempted to take some family pictures this morning. Guess who was not having any of it? Indeed, as soon as he saw the camera lens swing his way, Jamie pouted, complained, and, finally, howled. "Well, I got him looking this way, at least," was all the photographer could offer after the 8974th picture, having long since given up trying to get Jamie to smile. I suppose that was all we could ask for, given that Jamie had taken it upon himself to be as uncooperative as possible. And he is GOOD at being uncooperative - he's had lots of practice.

So, yeah - about that new outlook on life that I'm hoping he has? It can start any day now.

A is for ...Tomato

Okay, I know I can't stop from harping on Jamie's lack of vocabulary skills. I will try to stop. Soon. But first let me relay this story:

We have a few tomato plants in the backyard. Some cherry tomatoes, and some... bigger-than-cherry tomatoes. The cherry tomatoes have been ripening in spurts and recently a bunch have turned a nice shade of red. Jamie noticed these today. He made his way over to the "garden" (I call it such but it's really just a handful of plants that we're growing against the fence), carefully worked his pudgy hand between the wires of the tomato cage, and selected a tomato. He brought it to me, happily, helpfully; he deposited it into my outstretched hand and said, "apple".

Sigh.

Self-expression

Although he is now over 2 years of age, Jamie is still not big on using words. English words, that is. He retains his fluency in baby babble, which is cute at 12 months but not so much at 26. However, in spite of his continued language deficit, he is often able to communicate exactly what he wants. This morning, when he decided he was ready to break his fast, he trotted over to the pantry and selected a can of mandarin oranges. This he handed to me. Then, standing on his tiptoes, he opened the utensil drawer and rummaged through the jumble of tools until he found what he was looking for - the can opener. I have to confess that I was very proud of this ability - he knows what a can opener is! And where to find it! Now, if I can just get him to say, "Mother, I would like some mandarin oranges for breakfast," I'll feel even prouder.

Hell, just a "Jamie hungwy" would suffice...

Caity Uses the "S" Word

I made the kids peanut butter & jelly sandwiches for lunch. Because I was tired from walking around the zoo (strenuous activity for someone who typically sits on her well-padded bottom all day), I wasn't thinking clearly. And thus I committed the grave sin of putting the peanut-buttered bread and the jelly-slathered bread together into a sandwich form.

Caity (starting to whimper): But I like to put it together myself!

Mommy: Sorry. It'll still taste the same. Next time I'll do it the right way, but for now just eat it like this.

Caity (scowling at the sandwich): It looks suspicious.

I asked her what was suspicious about it, but she chose not to answer. A few minutes later, I noticed that she'd carefully peeled the halves of bread away from each other so that she could put them back together ON HER OWN. Clearly, this step is critical in achieving sandwich perfection (or at least it's important in creating a sandwich that isn't suspicious). Sigh.

Crash!

Today, in the grand tradition of smashing up Pacificas, I somehow managed to drive over a metal post. I was making a right turn through a parking lot, and this stupid post leaped under the car out of nowhere. The first I knew of it was a BANG, and the car jumped into the air as if lifted by explosives (indeed, my first panicked thought was that I'd driven over a land mine). Two men came running to see "if the world was ending" (to quote one of them). No, the world did not end, but I did manage to peel the rear passenger tire away from the rim; air hissed out through the gap so quickly that the tire was deflating before our eyes. The rear door was also somewhat dented. Because I am a college-educated woman with lots of life experience, I did what any like-minded individual would do in this circumstance... I called my husband to come rescue me. And he did. I don't think he was especially pleased.