The Adventures of Team Smith: June 2011

Sweet, sweet pumpkinhead,
Guess what! You scraped your toe. And you got an ant bite. You like to remind Daddy and me (and everyone else you see, including complete strangers) of these travesties on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis. That's all well and good. Except these travesties happened over a month ago. And you're still talking about them. And fretting about them. And still requesting that we put Band-Aids on these healed-long-ago injuries.

You like to say your whole name. It sounds like "Natta-yee Jane Smiss". It's AWESOME.

Know what else you like to say? "Whassa big idea?" and "Whassa going on here?" Daddy and I can think Donald Duck for those little gems.

You are so interested in songs on the radio. Every song that comes on prompts a "What song is DIS?" from you. One of the many reasons why my radio is on Christian radio 95% of the time is so I can feel 100% comfortable with you hearing every song that comes on. I don't have to worry about quickly changing the station because the song that just came on talks about things that two-year-olds (let alone your 30-year-old mother) don't need to hear about. You're picking up on lyrics and titles very quickly and I just can't handle the thought of you knowing the words to most of the songs on Top 40 stations. Phil Whickam? Yes. Natalie Grant? You betcha. Lady Gaga? No way, man. Ke$ha? Please, oh please, no.

You had your very first full-fledged, no holds barred stomach bug this month. You were sick for a total of 10 days - those 10 days tested all of us down to our very core. Thankfully Daddy never got sick and I was only sick for a day. So it made it much easier for us to take care of you. But we were waaaaaay not prepared for the sheer ickiness that is a Toddler Stomach Bug. I've never done so many small-but-I'm-sure-as-heck-not-putting-these-disgusting-clothes-in-with-our-regular-laundry loads of laundry. I had my very first experience of public vomiting (you might never be allowed in Panera Bread again) complete with my very first experience with trying to rinse you off in a restaurant bathroom sink (Verdict? Near impossible.) Daddy and I also had our first experience with having to wash every blanket on your bed (total: 5), every stuffed animal (total: 3), AND having to give you a highly unpleasant but oh-so necessary shower at 5am. Dude. We also watched an obscene amount of TV during those 10 days. Our DVR has never been more handy. Though I can say without hesitation that I am sufficiently tired of Sesame Street, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and Baby Einstein.

The bright side of your sickness was that you fell in love with Finding Nemo. You've never had the patience (or desire) to sit through a whole movie before, but laying on the couch for 10 days straight instills in you different patience and desires. You're okay with 99% of the movie, but the scene where the diver scoops up Nemo scares the pants off you. Not sure why the big Great White Shark doesn't scare you, or why the barracuda doesn't. But the diver, whoo doggies, watch out. As soon as that scene comes up, you say "It's scawwy, Momma! Puh-tec (protect) me!" Thank goodness for the fast-forward button. We've probably watched Nemo 20 times and suprisingly I'm not tired of it. I'm sure I will be, but for right now, I still love that little fish.

Your sense of humor just keeps getting more and more developed - and Daddy and I LOVE it. You've already picked up the humor in saying "Me three!" after someone says "Me too!". We made it to "Me Forty-Seven!" one day before you (mercifully) lost interest. You think it's hilarious to say the wrong noise for an animal ("Momma, a cow says 'woof woof! Hahahahaha!"). You think it's funny to pronounce 'animals' as 'aminimals'. You think it's funny to say that Daddy is a girl and I'm a boy (Daddy finds this slightly less funny than you do). You think it's funny to say that Daddy doesn't have a mustache and that Mommy does (Mommy finds this slightly less funny than both you and Daddy do).

You like to go around saying things you shouldn't say - not in a disobedient way, but more in an OCD way. For instance, a big thing we're working on with you is to not say "no" when Daddy or I ask you to do something. "No" is a perfectly fine word, but not as a response to something you're asked to do. So if you say "no", I remind you that it's not an appropriate response. You say "Oh yeah. Don't say 'no'. Don't say 'mine'. Don't say 'me first'. Don't say 'now'." You like to repeat that list a lot. I find it funny a lot.

Speaking of saying "no", just when Daddy or I think you're saying "no" to us, you follow it up with "pwob-yem" (problem). "Natalie, please go to your room and bring me a diaper." "No!! .... (insert charming smile here) ... Pwob-yem". You're only two-and-a-half and already a wise guy.

You like to take something called a Fam-ee Seep (Family Sleep). After Daddy gets home from work, you like for all of us to go to Mommy and Daddy's room. You and I play on the bed while Daddy changes from Work Clothes Daddy to Comfy Clothes Daddy. Then he joins us on the bed. You (loudly - we're still trying to work with you on volume control) announce that it's time for a Fam-ee Seep, which means that all of us have to get under the covers, put our heads on the pillow, and pretend to sleep. Daddy and I could fall alseep for REAL if your Fam-ee Seep ever lasted longer than 10 nanoseconds. But you, my darling wiggle worm, can't sit still for much longer than that. So you start poking our mouths (or our eyes, ears, chin, neck, whatever) with your little bony fingers, saying "Time to wake up, Mommy! Time to not be in bed any more! Time to stand up on da floor!"

It's hard to believe that just 5 months ago, Daddy and I were worried about your lack of speech. Many people warned me that once you learned to talk, I would be wishing for the days when you didn't. Never fear, I'm so not even CLOSE to being there. I love hearing you talk. You come up with the neatest things. I put on an old t-shirt the other day and you came up to me and said "Oooh, dat's a boo-tiful shirt you got on dere, Mommy!" After I painted your toes (with some awesome sparkly nail polish), you said "Oh, tank you, Mommy, for painting my toes wiff sparkwy powwish. I yuhve dem." As we were driving around town one day, you noiced a fire hydrant that was missing its top white part. You said "Mommy!! Dat fire hydwant is missing its white hat! We need to find it!" You found a copy of the New Testament in your room (the one the hospital staff gave you when you were born). You were carrying it around the house and saying "I weadin' da Bible. It's about God and Jesus. Once upon a time ..." After I cleaned you up after one your many (many) vomiting episodes, I scooped you up and we snuggled on the couch. You looked at me and said "Tanks, Momma, for holding me in your yap (lap)." After you asked me what I was eating one day and I told you it was lasagna, you giggled and said "Yasagna. Dat's a funny word. Yasagna yasagna yasagna". After eating a banana, you came up to me and said "I need to cwean my hands. Dere all banana-y." Yep, you're totally my child. Already making up words by adding a "-y" to the end. I'm so proud.

You like to tell me what letter that words start with. If I say to you "Please get me your sippy cup", you say "Sippy cup starts wiss (with) yetter (letter) S! SSSSSSSSSS!" Perhaps you use it as a distraction method so you don't have to do what I asked right away. Or perhaps you really are just that nerdy and love everything about letters. Or perhaps it's both.

I love you top to bottom, heart and soul, my sweet Natta-yee Jane Smiss. Please don't throw up on me again.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Headlines from July 1, 2011