Month 22 - Recap

Why hello there, you talkative little thing, you,
At the beginning of last month, I started to keep track of the words you were saying (bowl - to tell me you want a snack [BO], apple [aah-BO], cheese [CHEE], bath [ba]), but now, you jabber so much that I can't keep up. I'm hesitant to say you're full-on talking, because I think it takes the heart of a Mommy or a Daddy to fully translate the gibberish that pours from the mouth of an almost-two-year-old, but you're so close, dude. You're so close. You'll pretty much repeat any word we ask you to (as long as you're in the proper sure-I'll-play-along-with-your-silly-little-game mood, of course). Your words almost always leave off the last few letters and I've never heard you pronounce the letter S before, but other than that, I say you're talking. And since this is my blog, I can say whatever-the-heck I want to.

You had your first appointment at a dermatologist this month after it was determined that your poor skin rash wasn't caused by a food allergy. I would have bet money you were allergic to something (and I'm sure you still submit you're allergic to all vegetables), but the blood test indicated otherwise. Shows you what I know (ie: nothing). We're trying the medicine the doctor prescribed but I'm not holding out much hope for it. It doesn't seem to be doing much good. I might be going the crunchy-granola-hippie-all-natural route if I don't see any improvement. There's no sense in covering you in chemicals that don't work if something natural will help. Wouldn't it be a kick in the pants if rubbing broccoli on your legs would clear them up? HA!

Speaking of veggies, I have found one veggie (or pseudo-veggie) that you'll eat! Alexia Sweet Potato Puffs. But you'll only eat them cold (not frozen but from the fridge, leftovers from the night before [of which you ate zero]) Of course, now that I've said (written) something, you'll stop eating them. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

The first radio song Natalie ever sang to was Luminate's "Come Home". Yours is Matthew West's "Hello, My Name Is". Now, I'm not 100% sure you've done it, but I'm pretty sure. It wasn't while that song was playing on the radio, but it was when your sister (who happens to be a human radio) was singing it a few days ago. Just as she was about to sing the impossibly catchy little part of the chorus, you busted out with "whoa oh oh oh oh oh". Yes, it could have been a coincidence, but I like to think that it's not. Goodness knows you've heard that song a bajillion times. KLOVE and WAY-FM are just as guilty as, ahem, popular stations of overplaying music. Though I have no problem of overhearing music about Jesus.

You've stopped calling us Momma and Dadda in favor of the more knock-our-socks-off adorable 'MomMEEEEEEE' and 'DadDEEEEEEE'. And instead of calling Natalie 'Na-naaaaa', you've started calling her 'Nattie', only it sounds like 'Nannie'. Shut UP with the cuteness.

Natalie started preschool last month so you and I have had a lot of Charlie-Mommy time, and it's been so, so precious. I've forgotten what's like to just have one kiddo to wrangle. And I've forgotten what it's like to just have that one kiddo be a toddler. When Natalie was your age, she never really liked playing by herself, but you're pretty content by yourself for short periods of time. You're becoming a block stacking CHAMP (your current record is 11 wooden blocks). You love laying on your stomach while you color a picture. You love running your trucks all over the playroom. When you get bored, you come find me and grab my finger and pull me towards the playroom. How can I ignore such a blatant display of adorableness? You don't always want to play with me; you just usually want an audience. I don't mean to pat myself on the back but I'm a darn good audience.

You say everything is blue. So as long as we point to blue things and ask you what color it is, you appear to be a genius.

While you still love your trucks and trains and All Things Boy there is one particularly girly thing that you cherish almost above all else. I don't mean to rat you out here on the interwebs, but, well, here goes. You love Dora. Like, LOVE Dora. So much so that you have to have not one but TWO plastic Dora dolls (from Natalie's Dora dollhouse) in your grubby little paws when you sleep or else there is some serious wailing, gnashing of (still far-too-few) teeth and pitiful cries for Googa (what you call Dora - strange, I know). You also sleep with a plastic dog on a leash (the one that goes 'yip yip yip' as you pull it along the floor), several books, a see-through backpack full over rubber ducks and finger puppets, your giraffe lunchbox, a Barbie car (driven by a Minion from Despicable Me), a Toy Story mini Manga Doodle, a front-end loader, no fewer than 6 stuffed animals and a blanket. YES, THEY ARE ALL CRITICALLY IMPORTANT TO YOU BEING ABLE TO SLEEP. YES, YOU ARE SO WEIRD. If A&E ever does a show about Toddler Hoarders, you should be profiled on the first episode.

It's not that I wish this stage would hurry up and be over - because I don't - but daggum this age is so. hard. It's hard on you because you're perpetually frustrated by not being able to express yourself. You're perpetually frustrated because you hate sharing. You're perpetually frustrated because you hate not being taller or bigger or older. And you choose to express that perpetual frustration by screaming and yelling and fake crying and throwing yourself down at my feet. And I have to be the adult (verdict: BOO) so I can't be perpetually frustrated by living with someone who chooses to behave like a complete whackadoo. But then all is forgotten when you clomp over to me, grab my finger, and lead me to the playroom to show me your latest masterpiece of crayon-and-pen scribbles on construction paper. And it's beautiful. I mean, handsome. So stay this age, my yelly little fake cryer. I still love you. Aaaaand you love Dora.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for September 9, 2013:

• Obama legacy on the line as Syria vote looms
• Technology may spell end to the art of cursive handwriting [NOT FOR THE SMITHKIDS - YOU TWO WILL LEARN CURSIVE!]
• 'Good dad': Kim Jong Un has baby girl, Rodman says
• San Diego marks panda’s birthday with ice cake
• Cuddly kitty or killer? Evolution explains why cats are grumpy
• Crocodile traps island tourist for two weeks

August 2013 - Recap

Where, oh where, is my Natalie???
I'm trying to find my daughter. Do you know where she is? You know the girl I'm talking about, right? My daughter who pitches a fit every time I drop her off at school and church? It didn't matter if it was the first day of school or the last day of school, she was still going to pull the waterworks? You know that girl, right? Well I have no clue where that girl is. She's been MIA this month. THIS month she's been replaced by somebody who wears pigtails just like my daughter, who giggles just like my daughter, who's a big ol' sassypants just like my daughter, but she doesn't pitch a fit like my daughter. AND IT'S BEEN AMAZING! From the first day of VPK, you've run into class like it's no big thing. Like you've done it your whole life. I am so proud of you, my sweet peach. Like, I have to physically restrain myself from squeezing my proudness out of you. You probably won't understand this until you have your own kiddo. And even then, you probably won't understand it unless you have your own kiddo whose constant crying causes you to get called out of 13 consecutive church services when she's one and continues the sobfest at church and up through K3 (not that I wish that on you. But I kind of do. Not really. Yes I do.) You are growing up into such a rad kid. And I simply can't hear enough of "Momma, school is uh-MAY-zing. I totally love it."

I'm not sure if you think I'm falling down on my job as Mommy or if you just like to assert authority over Charlie (or both) but lawsy mercy, how you like to mother that boy. And I'll give you zero guesses as to how that goes over with someone whose current favorite words are NO and MINE and whose current favorite volume is SCREECHY LOUD BOY. And I'll give you another zero guesses as to how THAT goes over with someone who is extremely sensitive and takes everything personally. Suffice it to say, there has been a lot of hollering and tears this month. And that's just from me ...

Fun fact - I gave you a little language quiz earlier this week. According to your score, you have the vocabulary of a fifth grader. Surprising? Negative. Funny? Youuuu betcha.

Speaking of language, you think you can speak Spanish. You know what hola means, and you take that to mean you know the entire Spanish language. I hate to break it to you, but you don't. You do know what hola means. But that's it. Though it doesn't stop you from trying to speak "Spanish". [I mean no disrespect to anyone who reads this blog who actually speaks Spanish]. Case in point:

Me: Natalie, please get your shoes on. It's time to go to the store.
You: Fleeb. Flarb. Floob.
Me: Um, huh?
You: Fleeb! Flarb! Floob!
Me: Riiiiiiiiight. You. Shoes. Feet. Now.
You: I'm speaking SPANISH! I just said 'OK, Mommy!'
Me: Well, I don't speak Spanish. I speak English. Please speak English when you talk to me.
You: You speak Spanish, silly! You know what Hola means!
Me: Um, well, yes. Yes, I do.
You: See? So you should know what 'Blugga blarga flarby blarby' means!
Me: I should?
You: YES!
Me: Uhhhhh ... I don't. I'm sorry, peach.
You: MOMMA! It's SPANISH! It means 'I like bananas!'

You've surprised me a few times this month. You often ask me what Charlie and I do while you're at school. Part of me thinks I should just tell you the boring parts so that you don't feel left out. But then I figure that I should just go ahead and tell you all of it. One day I mentioned that I took Charlie to a new (not like 'brand new' new, but 'we've never been there before' new) park and I braced for the inevitable "You took Charlie to the park without MEEEEEEEE?!?!?!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" But you truly surprised me! You said "Oh how FUN! Did Charlie have a good time? Can the three of us go again after quiet time today?" It's sweet and rational comments like that which make crackhead and irrational comments like "Charlie [who was buckled in his highchair across the table - at least 3' away] is trying to reach for my grapes! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" make me want to poke a fork in my ears. Or better yet, your ears.

You're still a non-stop crafting machine. You turn out no fewer than five pieces of art each day during quiet time. You were really into painting earlier this month but currently you divide your time between coloring with markers (you particularly like coloring scenes of a boy and a girl swinging under an apple tree [a pink swing for the girl and a blue swing for the boy - of course] and a momma reading a magazine under an umbrella so she won't get too hot - it's like you're reading my mind!!) and making Play-Doh pizzas and spaghetti dinners. And the other day, you drew the girl next a teeny tiny slide. I was just about to ask why the slide was so little when you said "The slide isn't actually that little. It just looks little because it's far away. Did you know that things look little when they're far away?" I had no idea you knew what perspective was. Your. brain. fascinates. me.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for September 1, 2013

• Does Obama's decision on Syria diminish the power of the presidency?
• Nelson Mandela leaves hospital, condition still critical
• Your phone is blabbing your location to snoops all the time
• Patriots release Tim Tebow — are his NFL days over?
• Burger King Rolls Out With 'French Fry Burger'
• Couple who died hours apart after 71 years of marriage described as inseparable by family