Two

Big learned the word "two" today, just in time for Seven's first day of second grade.



Below are some images of first days of years gone by (first grade and kindergarten respectively).

Begin: establish, formulate, found, inaugurate, institute, originate, set up, start

Because potty training was so (ahem) challenging for all of us the first time around, we are simply not discouraging Big in his nascent interest in "the potty" and his more urgent interest in all-things-not-toddler (including booster seats in the car and not wearing diapers).

As I previously posted, once he acquired the word "PEW-OOP!", he let us know that he clearly has an awareness of from WHERE it comes and, recently, has been announcing pending BMs. Following his lead, I pulled out the old potty and the corresponding book that discusses what one does with the potty which we perused, delightfully, together.

Tonight, after taking a bath, we were playing trains and I was attempting to cajole him into his diaper and pajamas. At one point, I noticed that look in his eyes and asked him if he needed to go "PEW-OOP". He immediately got up and ran into the bathroom, me bumbling to my feet and racing behind. Once in the bathroom, he backed into the potty and I sat opposite him on our own, larger version for approximately 0.3 seconds after which he hopped up and then ran back into the playroom, looking back over his shoulder at me as if to say "Aren't you coming???"

Once back with the trains, Cousin called, and in the time it took to say "hello", Big had kneeled on the carpet and released his bowles. Let me clarify: released his bowles on the floor. I should have photographed for you all to see for yourselves. At least it was adult-like in form and substance (read: easy to pick up). This turd, sitting on the rug as it did, as if just asking for Big to absentmindedly turn his heel into it, may literally haunt me like those of the protagonist's Parkinson's-suffering dad, Alfred Lambert, in Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections.

By the time I carefully wrapped it into the clean diaper that had been intended for him and toted it to the toilet, gave him an encouraging "high five" (keeping in mind the potty-training mantra to 'keep it positive'), and tried again to wheedle him into the diaper, he leaned over and peed all over the floor.

Wish us, and our house, luck.

Bridges, Birthdays and other Catastrophes. . .

For those friends and family with whom I have not yet connected tonight, we're all okay. Seven and BioMom were downtown all day today, but came home early and, because we live south of the city, never passed over the bridge that collapsed. We're fixated to the news and our communication devices, hoping that all of our loved ones are okay, and praying for everyone else.

Tomorrow is my birthday. Not one that is particularly significant. But it feels so in that it is literally the first birthday that I don't personally care about -- well not in terms of myself anyway. Maybe that feeling itself is a mark of growing older. . . Like enjoying nuts in your brownies and on ice cream or taking two days to mow the lawn.

A few weeks ago BioMom was badgering me for some gift ideas and I literally could think of nothing. Furthermore, in terms of birthday activities, I can't imagine a better day than spending it with Seven, Big, BioMom, Cousin and her kids (they're coming tomorrow!).

Seven overheard the conversation:

Seven (incredulously): How can you not want anything for your birthday!?!

Me: I dunno. I just can't think of anything that I need or want.

Me (to myself): How lucky am I???

Me (surrepticiously behind BioMom's back): What if I asked for that Hanna Montana CD that you've been wanting for my birthday?

She (incredulously): YOU WOULD DO THAT??

Me (to myself): Getting to be your kid's hero for your birthday? Priceless.

This Just In

A new 18 month old "achievement" for Big.

He found the laundry shoot.

And some humor.

What has gone down: Dirty laundry. My shoes. His sippy cup. Trucks. Seven's Tamagachi (Maya).

What has yet to go down: his lunch.

Cease and Inhale the Bouganvallia

I have been, thus far, extremely nonchalant and unconcerned about the relative lack of language development in Big. Relative to his still loquacious sister who, at his age was speaking plenty. At one point, whilst enjoying my morning coffee in the kitchen with BioMom and Seven (then 18 - 24 months, I'm not exactly sure when it was) I asked BioMom "What words doesn't she have?" BioMom responded: "I don't think any!" I then pointed to the microwave and the refrigerator an the girl had no clue as to what they were. A doll, however, who had lost her head, was referred to regularly as having been "decapatated."

There's just something blissfull about Big's lack of language.

Sure, he grunts and points and whines and squeels at things that he wants or injustices that he feels the need to express. But there's just something so, well, ambiguous about his desires that somehow refuses to assign responsibility to me to help him meet those wants. Sure, I might have a feeling that his insistent grunt and pointy finger means that he would prefer to be allowed to run into the middle of the street, but without language, I can mistake it for something else, perhaps a ball in the yard, and walk toward that instead of the moving vehicles, and soon, he is distracted.

A neighbor of our's little girl, a bit older than Big, has, of late, become quite gregarious. She is transitioning her to a half day or so of day care per week. Last week was her first day and I asked how it went. She said that her daughter, once they were again reunited (after only an hour or so) repeated "Mommy stay!"

I just don't want to hear Big say "Please don't leave me in my crib tonight, Baba! I'm terrified of being alone!" or something else to break my heart in two.

I fear, however, that the end of my blissful ignorance is near. Today at the park, Big walked up to said neighbor with a seeding dandelion* and said, in the clearest, highest-pitched pre-pubescent voice: "Flower."

It was so spontaneous and sweet. Another reminder to stop and smell them.

I fear most of all, for BioMom and I and, especially for Seven (upon whom he blames most perceived injustices), the negatives of his language development. This weekend for Mother's Day Lynn Johnston, writer and illustrator of For Better or For Worse, posted the following cartoon. The moral of the story? Get in all your road trips prior to the full development of the siblings' langugage.




*which is called, I just learned, a 'dandelion clock'. Wikipedia tells us that blowing this 'clock' apart is "a popular activity for children worldwide." In Germany, they call it a Pusteblume, translation: "blow flower." Not unlike the question, 'How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop?', the question about how many blows required to 'completely rid the clock of its seeds' is also asked around the world and is said to relate to the time of day.

Little Known Facts

LKF No. 1: BioMom and I bargain over who has to sneak into the kids' room and remove-then-replace the tooth-container, exchanging tooth for Sacagawea Dollar. I.e. become the Tooth Fairy.

LKF No. 2: I did it last time but she doesn't remember it that way. As Seven lost another tooth this week (her seventh total) I am not entirely looking forward to going in and trying to switch it out from under her pillow while going unnoticed. . . AGAIN.

LKF No. 3: We are actually borrowing a Sacagawea Dollar from her stash tonight because I am too lazy to go out to the car to get another.

LKF No. 4: Seven will never notice LKF No 3 (that is until she's old enough to read all the back logs of this blog. Twenty-Two? If you're reading this now, I owe you a dollar!).

I Want To Ride My Bicycle

Irregular Monthly Newsletter: 16 Months

You're 16 months old today, Big.

This last month you seem to have made incredible cognitive leaps. I think I've used this metaphor before, but it feels like I am driving in southern Minnesota trying to tune into MPR on the radio but not quite getting a signal, Terry Gross' voice coming in and out, enabling me to hear only snippets of an interview but thrilled at the optimistic implication that I must be driving in the right direction. You're definitely starting to "tune in" to the world with your burgeoning 5-10 word vocabulary (if you don't worry too much about enunciation).

Please pardon the repitition from last month's issue.

"Ball!" (emphatically) remains your most prominant word. It is almost to the point now, that I believe you've started your own religion around the spherical deity. BioMom told me today that you were taking one of your balls for a rides around the living room on your trike.

Star
Car
Flower
Dog
Kitty
Stop
and, some have reported hearing you say the inevitable, "no".

Whether we can understand it or not, you definitely know words and their meanings. One afternoon, we were heading over to the movie shop to pick up a little something for that Friday evening's entertainment. You were in your car seat playing with this baby toy of yours, a sphere that can rotate within a square. The sphere has stars and moons on it. I happened to be wearing a sweatshirt with a star on it. You pointed to the star on my shirt and then down to the star on the sphere.

It was amazing to see you make that connection.

Similarly, if I either say we're going "outside" or even if I begin to organize the paraphernailia for leaving the house, you rush to the front door, often grabbing a shoe or two along the way as if to say "what are you waiting for??"

You started this thing where you reaching up under people's shirts looking for bare skin, trying to tickle people and laughing sadistically while you do it.

And lastly, the other night, BioMom and I were trying to get you to ask for "more" food, drink, whatever, using the little sign of putting a finger or two from your right hand into the palm of your left. You did it! (You ALWAYS want more blueberries!) and you even remembered the sign the next day.

I feel a little like Jodie Foster in Contact!

At The Hair-e-tic