The Boy *IS* Twitter

The Boy provides a running — and constant — commentary of every thing he does.

Shoveling dirt.
Making hole.
More dirt.
Dirt everywhere.
Pat dirt.
Eat it?
Nummy dirt.
Mommy running.

The Boy is Twitter incarnate.

A TWO Red Letter Day

First Red Letter:
With every major developmental milestone (rolling over, standing up), people have said, "The party's over now!"

I've breezed by that statement. The Boy is pretty groovy about boundaries and no-boy zones.

But tonight, I think the party is, indeed, over. The old party, that is.

Tonight we had our first I Can Do It Myself.

You know that silence that rings after someone says, "You said you had the tickets," or "Will you accept a collect call from Thurston County jail?"

Yeah, it was like that.

Second Red Letter:
The I Can Do It Myself was prompted by the new potty chair.

There's been a lot of potty talk around the house lately. We've been talking about the day when diapers will no longer be necessary. The Boy seems interested in the concept.

So today I thought I'd see how he felt about the execution.

The ICDIM came from The Boy's dawning realization that he now has a reason to pull down his pants. There was a lot of pant readjustment, sitting and standing.

Oh, my genius boy, I thought to myself. He's going to be trained in a week and all will be self-sufficiency and pride.

You have to give me my flights of fancy.

It was a great ten minutes until he figured out the potty can be disassembled. Yes, that's right. It's a bowl, a toilet seat insert and a step stool. This was way better than some thing to sit on.

A list of Rules burst from my mouth:
The pot stays in the seat (it does not go on your head).
Nothing goes in the pot, through the seat or into the base that isn't poop, pee or paper.
It is not a truck.
It is not a tractor.
It is not a boat.

What finally got through: The potty is a tool just like the lawnmower and the chainsaw. You use it for only one thing.

So the party may be over.

But I think a new one has begun.

Exhausted but Present

Not the most alluring shot of Matt.

It's the end of day 22. 22 straight days of work; drilling in the National Guard. Four more days and he can be done for a bit.

But Matt's a Good Dad and absolute brain dead-ed-ness notwithstanding he is takes on Boy Care from the moment he walks through the door.

Tonight, by the time he dozed through dinner, flopping on the beanbag and staying awake was all he could manage.

The Boy figured he just had one more toy.

Daddy: Better Than a Swing Set.

Dad was, by turns, a horse, a plow, a car and some unidentifiable bit of machinery. Matt must have kidneys of teflon and a bladder of steel. There were a lot of giddyups and kick starts.
At one point Daddy the Tractor wouldn't start. The Boy walked around to see what the matter might be. He inspected Dad's nose the most closely and firmly announced, "Well, there's the problem."

Which was funny. But I can't figure out what the high point of the evening was. Either watching The Boy climb back onto his perch using Matt's face for a leg-up or seeing Matt's head flush a deep fuschia when The Boy when around back to "put the train in the tunnel."

Me? I was sipping a very nice glass of wine and laughing. I certainly didn't want to interfere with their bonding.

Unleashing the Train

My dear cousin Adele bought The Boy a Brio Starter Set. A year ago. Almost.

It's a little embarrassing.

See, he just wasn't ready a year ago. He didn't get the whole train thing. He had (has, still) a low frustration threshold for stuff he can't do well. (Whose child is this?)

Okayokayokay. I was saving the set for a rainy, I can't stand it any longer, I need him completely engrossed for ten minutes day. And I didn't feel like tripping over and stepping on One More Thing.

But today was the day. Matt needed a pick-me-up and I needed a break.

Oh, what a lovely toy for The Boy.

He spent the entire evening with Dad arranging and rearranging. Laying the tracks in the front room. Laying the tracks in the living room. Lining the train cars up one way. Lining them up another. Oh, the Options.

There was one point where neither Matt nor I could find the engine. The Boy watched us for a while. Bemused. Then when he thought neither of us was looking, he toddled over to the vacuum cleaner, opened the storage box and hauled the engine out from its secret place. Sneaky kid.




The party really began once a circle was made of the tracks. Then it was both a train track AND a corral. The animals were lined up inside and each got to hold a train car. Then the Case tractor was brought in to restore order.

And The Boy stayed in one spot for maybe nine minutes.









As The Boy was winding down for the night, he gathered up all the train cars and tucked them around him in the beanbag. He gave them pats, examined them closely and then ran each one up and down the dog's spine. Then we said goodnight to them all and called it a day.

Nice job, Adele. Thanks.

Building Highways

I don't know about other moms but I go through periods where I'm concerned about some of The Boy's behaviors.

Repeating words over and over until I sing Abba Dabba Honeymoon louder than his chanting. Odd little jerks of his limbs. Gathering up all his wheeled toys — including the Headless Hippo — and laying them nose to tail along the floor.

I have this autism paranoia thing that frequently rears its ugly head.

And then I talk myself down.

He's a boy. He's 23 months. He's a boy. He's my kid. And he's inarguably Matt's kid.

So it's okay.

These are shots of the Highway of the Day. This is usually his first project after his nap. Until recently he hauled out all his books and made a road. Lately, he's preferred his trucks.

Since there are fewer trucks — including the Headless Hippo — than books. And since trucks — including the Headless Hippo — are more sturdy than books I'm okay with the current trend.

A slight bummer of a footnote: After seeing these pictures Matt thinks The Boy needs more trucks.