Did I Miss "The Moment"?

The Boy twanged my heartstrings today.

As I gave him a bath in the kitchen sink (how much longer will I be able to do that?) we worked our way to hair washing.

This is a tough move. No one likes it much. I plant the well-wrung washcloth over his eyes to try to keep the water out. The rinsing water is warm and precision-poured from the houseplant watering can. But there still is soap, tension and confusion.

In the middle of all these manouvers, The Boy very gently touched my wrist and said, "Please don't." His words were clear. His inflection was almost pleading. It scared the heck out of me.

Give me a 21 month old NOOOOooo! (*thrash flail*) any day.

So now what? He's already confused me. If I said "Please don't" to him, I would expect him to stop doing whatever. Now he's asking me very politely to stop.

Of course, I went ahead and finished rinsing. I did the whole, "Mama's got to get the soap out or your eyes will hurt," but I don't think he bought it.

I wonder if I will look back on this as The Moment Where It All Went Wrong ... ?

Didi Joins the Family

The Boy has a doll. Didi.

At the Parent/Toddler class we took this winter, there was a tub full of baby dolls. One day Myles got into it, pulled out a likely looking one and hauled it around for an hour. I watched through the window as he carried it on his hip and patted the back of its head. He offered it some rice puffs and read to it. Then he very gently laid it down and put a paperback book "blanket" over it and patted it good night.

Okay.

So the next time I was at Baby Basics (better known as "the Used Baby Store") I found a nice blue-eyed doll ($6!). It doesn't "do" anything. It requires no batteries. Its eyes don't open and shut. It doesn't pee. That was 2-3 months ago.

This week, Didi was officially noticed and made a permanent member of the entourage. Didi eats with us and travels with us and sleeps with us.

Come on, Myles, it's time to eat.
"Didi eat, too?" in a sweet, wistful, high-pitched voice.
Sure.

Didi sits in my lap (or Grandma's) while Myles works on his spoon skills. Occasionally Didi gets a bite of something. I draw the line at blueberries. Milk is okay. Yoghurt I have to think about.

Come on, Myles, let's go get some food for dinner.
"Didi come, too?"
Sure.

The other day he was almost asleep in the car when, WHAM, he was bolt upright and patting his chest. "Didi! Didi!" So I fished around in the back seat (while driving — you learn to do this) and set Didi in his lap. The Boy snugged Didi across his legs and shoulder and immediately fell asleep.

Didi is better than Santa Claus for encouraging good behavior.
"Hmm ... Didi is too close to the stove while I am cooking. You should take Didi to the couch where it is safe."

"Look at how quietly Didi is sitting. I am happy he is letting me talk on the phone."

What really gets me misty-eyed is watching Myles be "Didi's daddy." It really is a testament to Matt's dad skills. When Myles is intentionally playing with Didi, he holds the doll so carefully. He reads to it and shows it his treasured tools.

I give him feedback, "Oh, Myles, you are so gentle. You are a good daddy." Myles gives me a winning smile and scuttles out of the room chanting "Didi's daddy! Didi's Daddy!" And thumps Didi's head against the wall on the way out.

Car Dishwasher

Oh, The Boy is terribly smart.

Yesterday as a "reward" (and because my car was dirty) we went through the car wash.

This was a new experience and a pretty loud one. He handled it just fine. The guys who brush the car before the chain carries you away were having fun with him; making faces, tapping on the window and "brushing" him.

As we advanced through the brushes and sprays I dictated the work process. "The car wash guys are brushing our car with soap. Now the brushes are whirring ... whirring and flicking off the dirt. Here comes the water. Etc, etc, etc."

As we neared the end, The Boy pops up with "Dishwasher!"
Yes, Myles, it's like a dishwasher for cars. It's a car wash.

"Car dishwasher!"
Yes. A car wash.

"Caaaaar dishwasher!"
Good enough.

Later that evening he had the brush and pan out "car dishwashering" the dog's crate. Good man. Good transfer of concept.

Enforced Coffee Klatch

The Boy is 20 months and trying 2 year old behavior on for size. It's an adjustment. We call them "Developmental Moments."

But then he goes back to being his usual darling self.

One of his new "demands" is that he gets to drink his morning juice while sitting on the windowsill. The other is that I drink a cup of coffee with him. And, you know, I can do that.

It has to be coffee for me, though he has juice or milk according to today's preference. Sound effects are also required: *Slurping noise* "Ahhh ... "

Really. How long is he going to want me to sit with him?

I tell you, I can see the future and it's not that far off. On the other hand, there are fewer diaper changes in it.

The Power of "Please"

Louder is better. Right?

So we're working on "please" with "thank you" hard on its heels.

(And at this point I have to question why it's so important that we say "please" all the time. Is it training for when it's actually important? When is it actually important? There's something wheedle-y about non-stop "please-s." And some sort of expectation of entitlement. I need to think about this.)

But to please Grandmas — and QFC clerks — everywhere, we're learning to say "please."

Two immediate results:

1) There is some toddler logic applied that if "please" is the magic word, then the desired result will be achieved when "please" is said loudly, repeatedly and as distinctly as a 20 month old palate will allow. Right?

Driving downtown just after a nap with a baggie of chex mix (commonly referred to as "O's") provided a chance to test this hypothesis.

Yeah. It works. But I had no idea I tuned him out so much while driving; a little freaky there.

2) My mom had her first ... I don't know what a good descriptor is ... Deviant Grandma? Siding with the Grandson? Betrayal of the Eldest Daughter?... moment.

Myles was with me at Grandma's asking for treats — O's probably — and I said no. We were going home, he had already had a lot of O's, and there is a reason we call chex mix "colon blow." But Mom gave me a look that was both pleading and placating saying, "He said 'pleeeease' ... "

I can't fight the both of them.

My Hanger-on

Yesterday, Grandma bought The Boy some clothes (on sale!). As The Boy is currently into counting, we spent last evening handing him the clothes one at a time while he counted. Big fun at the Old Homestead last night, let me tell you.

This morning the clothes are still on their hangers. The Boy has taken it into his head to hang them on the counter. He's been at it about 6 minutes. I'm staying out of it. He's busy. And ... heh heh ... maybe he'll be one of those strange kids that hangs their clothes up. Ahhh ... What a lovely dream.

Okay. It's 10 minutes later and he's asked for help. The clothes, including the "Daddy shirt" and the shirt with the wrecking ball, are swaying gently from the counter's edge. He is so proud.

Addressing The Weenie

It has to be addressed. I have birthed a boy and, apparently, weenie fascination come with the package.

I decided on "weenie." "Penis" is correct and proper, but 1. it sounds like something that should be held in a pair of tweezers and 2. there's something too prim about the word. Weenie it is. For now. I'm sure he'll find other words for it later.

So when he found said weenie, I gave him the word and he was fine. Every diaper change is now occasioned by a cataloging of the body parts that are usually covered by a onesie.

"Belly button!"
Yes, Myles, that's your belly button.

"Butt!"
Yes, Myles, that's your butt.

"Weenie!"
Yes, Myles, that's your weenie.

He's also working on his adjectives: "BIIIG tractor! ... tiny tractor ..." "BIIIIG dog! ... tiny dog ..." and, inevitably, "BIIIIG weenie! ..." and so on.

Today, his fascination for saws joined us on the diaper table. The ever-present cooking spoon served as a "saw" this morning. "Table. Cut." "Wall. Cut." "Weenie. *sawing action* Cut."

I want props for not taking a picture at this point.