Sunday, July 27, 2008
He has a girlfriend. Her name is Chloe.
Little man has always been Mr. Congeniality. He has an uncanny ability to make friends with anyone and everyone.
However, I knew from the beginning that Chloe must be special.
Little man usually only talks at great length about really truly special things ... like "big trucks," boats and airplanes. Occasionally the subject will drift towards bugs or dooms, but as a general rule, trucks are little man's topic of choice. And despite his entourage of little friends, he rarely speaks about them.
I noticed it last week when on the way to "school," instead of telling mommy all about the trucks and "baby dooms" he was going to play with, little man kept asking me if he was going to see Chloe.
"I'm sure Chloe will be there today," I said.
"YAYYYYY!" little man exclaimed while clapping his little hands.
Ever the curious mommy, I had to delve further into the details surrounding little man's new friend.
"Tell mommy about Chloe," I asked little man.
Little man sat in silence. However, his coy little smile and blushing cheeks said all I needed to know.
"Do you like Chloe?"
"Chloe's my fwend," little man finally shared with me.
I had it -- confirmation. Little man's first girlfriend.
And then I smiled.
And so the week continued. Each morning the same as the one before, as if it were on repeat.
After much assurance in the car ride there that little man would be seeing Chloe that day, we would finally arrive.
And as I would open the door to little man's room, there would be Chloe.
"Hi," she would say to little man with the same coy little smile little man would have on his face.
"Hi," little man would say back, giving mommy "the look."
(You know the one -- the embarrassed "mommy can you please leave now so I can play with Chloe?" look.)
And so I would leave little man and Chloe to begin their day together, taking little man's cue.
That is, after stealing one more kiss from little man, despite the embarrassed "I can't believe you just did that mommy" look scrawled all over little man's face.
But little man would quickly recover from his embarrassment, and together he and Chloe would take their place at the bin full of big rubber dinosaurs.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
My most favorite part, however, is all of the artwork. I love seeing what new treasure little man will be bringing home each day. They really have challenged his little mind creatively speaking and each day he proudly shows me his latest masterpiece, being sure to point out "I make that."
Here are some of my favorites:
(My particular favorites are the farm scenes ... genius, don't you think? Yes, I am one of those moms.)
However, little man's personal favorite did leave mommy with quite the quandary. One day while picking him up for the day, little man proudly, excitedly showed me his artwork of the day. "I make that," he kept saying to me, so proud of his little masterpiece:
Apparently, his Bible story of the day was about how God healed the lepers. Granted, they didn't go into all the dirty details regarding the lepers, just about how God "healed the boo-boos." (Hence the "band-aides" on Naamen's arms.)
"I make that," little man proclaimed. "God healed boo-boos. He kiss it."
Little man then proceeded to kiss the leper, just like mommy does with his boo-boos.
"Oh, that's great," I said to him. "That's right."
As I tried to not talk about lepers the entire ride home, it was futile. Little man was exceptionally proud of this masterpiece. He wanted to tell dadddy all about it.
"Daddy!" He exclaimed when we walked in the house. "God healed the boo-boos. Kiss it!"
As my husband greeted little man in all of his excitement, he looked at the picture and had the same expression I'm sure I had moments before.
"Oh ... that's a nice ... picture," he said, looking at me inquisitively. He, too, was in leper-shock.
Little man then snatched the picture back from daddy and proceeded to walk over to the refrigerator, where the rest of his week's masterpieces hung.
"Mommy, put. PUT."
I sat there ... in a quandary. I knew how proud little man was of his picture, but to be honest, the thought of having a picture of a leper hanging in my kitchen was definitely ... unappetizing.
But, there sat little man, so proud of his picture.
And so the leper hung in all it's glory, displayed on the refrigerator amongst all of the other artwork.
That is, until at least the next week's batch of art filtered it's way on. And then, mysteriously, the leper was replaced by a big blue whale one night while little man slept.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
This one he must get from mommy. One of my favorite childhood memories is playing flashlight tag with my brother, his friends and the rest of the kids living in our small little cul-de-sac on warm summer nights. That is, until my brother figured out that I would hide in the same spot nearly every time, thus making me as easy target.
I was not a very good hider. And that, too, I must have passed on to little man.
Little man's favorite hiding spot is in the middle of the living room. Yes - the middle. And to further add to his stealth-like capabilities, he hides underneath his "big lovey," aka a lime green baby blanket.
But that's not all. It seems that with "hiding" also comes an incurable case of the giggles. Even if I somehow did manage to miss the lump of toddler on the living room floor beneath a lime green baby blanket, the constant stream of giggles would surely tip me off.
(That, and the fact that he almost always ropes daddy into the mix. A 6'4" daddy doesn't hide very well beneath a baby blanket, by the way.)
Yet, little man remains completely convinced that he is incognito. Invisible. Stealth-like.
And so I play along (unlike my brother many moons ago), looking high and low for little man throughout the house. In the coat closet, under the coffee table, behind the couches.
"Where is little man?" I ask.
And then, fortunately, little man will have pity on me.
"BOO!" He yells to me as he reveals himself. "I hiding."
And so the game continues on for another day ... when, once again, I walk into the living room to find a lime green lump of toddler with another incurable case of the giggles.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Casper joined our family in 2000, shortly before the husband and I got hitched. (Yes, we had an illegitimate puppy.)
When little man came along one of my biggest anxieties was how well Casper would make the adjustment to not being an only child anymore. I admit, I may have a freakish attachment to my dog. Fortunately, Casper took well to his new role as a big brother. After a quick sniff of little man's feet and a lick in the eye, Casper had accepted little man as a part of the family.
And even though Casper would never admit it, he loves the little guy. Especially now that little man has learned that Casper will gladly eat any dinner item that he himself does not want to eat. The two have already begun to gang up against me at dinner time. Little man also loves his brother, to which he refers to as his "diggie." (Don't ask, my best assumption would be that it is a 2-year-old's dialect of "doggie," but I really am clueless on this one. But, hey, it works.)
But, like any other sibling relationship, these two brothers have had their trials and tribulations. And Casper has learned that little man can be quite the pesky little brother.
And stealing his toys ...
Lately, little man has become fond of a new game in which he declares himself to be a "doggie," then proceeds to crawl around on all fours saying "arf, arf" and panting, just like his diggie. He will even crawl up to you and give you a "doggie kiss" which entails you being licked upside the cheek with a full toddler tongue, all the while he goes "pphhfffluuuuuuppppp."
And yes, he really does go "pphhfffluuuuuuppppp."
And yes, it is pretty dang cute.
However, last weekend, my husband didn't account for our son's full understanding of the English language.
As little man was demonstrating to Grandma and Papa his doggie alter-ego, my husband decided to chime in with the brilliant words of "You aren't a doggie, you don't have a bone in your mouth."
And with that, my little man proved that he does in fact understand much more of the English language than he is capable of actually speaking.
After a short bolt to the living room (crawling, like a doggie, of course) little man returned to the kitchen with this gem in his sweet little mouth:
A gnawed on, "bacon" flavored nylabone that has been slobbered on, chewed on and left in unmentionable places for far too long. It also has been in the mouths of no less than four other dogs, who have also slobbered on, chewed on and left the bone in unmentionable places.
A million different things immediately came to my mind - foremost being the million different germs residing on said gnawed bone.
But, there sat my little man, grinning from ear to ear, with his trophy in his mouth.
And all I could do was grin along with him.
Until I was able to run upstairs for his Elmo toothbrush, at least.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Especially when I look at old pictures.
This is little man when he was fresh and new. He was pefectly happy as long as he was fed every three hours, had his binky and had a warm body to cuddle up to. He loved to snuggle. And he always had a willing participant ... who wouldn't want to snuggle with that?
And then he grew up.
And my once sweet, snuggly, calm little baby boy, well ...
Let's just say he found his spunk.
Lately, little man has also definitely found his voice. Like any normal 2-year-old, little man has found lots of trouble lately.
"No, you can't play with knives."
"No, you can't mix chocolate milk and apple juice."
"No, don't chase the dog with the hockey stick. He is not a puck."
However, instead of throwing a common, and to be expected, 2-year-old tantrum when mommy tells him "no," my brilliant little man has devised a new argument as of late:
"I'm the mommy."
I do have to admit, the first time he sprung this new argument on me, I was taken back. "What does he mean?" I thought to myself.
Then I realized I wasn't giving little man enough credit - if he was the mommy, he got to make the rules. Can't say I didn't bring this one upon myself. I have been guilty of the "Because I'm the mommy and I said so" quip. I just didn't expect to hear it being thrown back at me. I could suddenly hear my mom's voice uttering those same words to me 27 years ago.
Then there was a pang of anger ... not that my once sweet and snuggly little man was arguing with me. It was because I hadn't thought of that argument when I was his age. I have to admit, there was a part of me that was impressed with his quick thinking and wit. However, I couldn't let him know that. I had to maintain my authority.
So I put on my best mean mommy face.
"If you're the mommy, who am I then?" I asked back, not entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer.
Little man sat for a moment, pondering his response.
"You're the mom."
And then my quick-witted little son ran off. I thought I had won the battle; I had maintained my authority.
Then, my son stopped, and looked back at me.
"I'm the mommy," he said.
So much for my best mean mommy face.