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.

The First Time The Boy's Head Flew Off

Okay, so the head flying off thing.

It happened when we got home from two weeks in Montana.

Background: The Toddler Teacher we take classes from talks about how kids who are The Boy's age will often save up their anxieties until it is "safe" to express them. Meaning something could scare or make The Boy apprehensive but he wouldn't react to it until he was in a "safe" state — physically or emotionally.

Hmm ... I thought when I heard this. That sounds like it could be true. It will be interesting to see if it's so.

Oh, let me tell you. It's so.

We got home after a decent flight and a looooong drive home. (Friday I5 traffic.) To get settled we went out back with the toy lawnmower for leg-stretching and juice.

The lawn was looking ragged after two week's neglect. The Boy was trying to mow it with his toy mower and wasn't getting anywhere. After five minutes he completely lost it. Just lost it.

For 22 minutes. I timed it.

At one point he was trying to tip over the couch. My gentle, sweet boy. Yeah.

I offered him the footstool but he declined.

I know every kid is different about how he wants to be treated when his head has come loose. Some want to be alone in the room. Some want to be held. Some want an audience.

I have no idea what The Boy wants. Yet. I'm sure we'll get more chances.

No. Not my sweet, gentle boy.

Look, guys; just let me have my dreams for now.

Montana Recall: Home but still washing off the dust

Well, we've been home a couple days. There were big aspirations for weekend chores but really we — okay, I — just lazed about. I lost all my gumption the minute we walked in the door and The Boy's head flew off.

I'll get to that later.

I want to dwell on the good stuff first.

So. Happy, or at least Cute, Montana Vignettes:

The Boy has reached the "neeeeeed" stage. As in, "Neeeeeed [whatever I have in my hand: bottle/pruners/cd]!" Nonnie has dozens and dozens of tractor toys at her house. When there were tears it was, "Neeeed John Deer! Neeeeeeeeed John Deer!" Popped a green tractor in his hand and the tears dried up. Exxxcccellent.

Nonnie brought new blister packs of little tractors and trucks (like we didn't have enough already) for the three grandsons to keep them live-withable while we ate our Lindy's steak. One toy was a forklift. Crown Prince Liam bagged it quickly. After examining it for a while, turning it this way and that, he translated literally and started eating his dinner with the forklift. Good boy, Liam.

The Carousel for Missoula was a little daunting. The band organ is pretty loud and it is billed as the fastest carousel in the USA. Against slight protest, Daddy swooped him up and around they went. The Boy looked like a melt down was imminent for the first few passes but he was definitely grooving on it by the end. When we were far enough away, The Boy's comment was, "I cried a little but it was funny." Yes, Sweetie, it was.







Matt took The Boy for a ride on Unclejerryinmontana's ATV. They went so slowly that I could have caught up with them at a jog. (Not that I jog. I do joggle.) By the time they came back down the road, The Boy had Daddy in a death grip but his face was lit up and he was chanting, "Go faster! Go faster!" Matt was muttering something about not taking driving directions from a two-year-old.







There is a pretty good playhouse at Nonnie's. He spent a lot of time with a frying pan and a "spatchu-BIya" (spatula) working at the stove. I confess it warmed the cockles of my heart to see The Boy playing at the stove "making eggs" and "coffee." I know he's a boy and I know he's currently dedicated to motorized things. But I am pleased (okay, and a little relived) that he imitates me in some things. (The toy in the picture is a coffee pot, by the way.)

Garage sales are the community event on Seeley Lake weekends. Nonnie picks up a lot of good stuff. What caught The Boy's attention was sitting in the living room: a life-sized mallard carved by a Seeley old timer. The boy fed it grass and took it to the other side of the room to visit the metal loon cut out. But mostly he rode it. At one point he insisted it needed a saddle. He went so far as to get a washcloth but the cloth kept sliding off the duck's back. Guess we have a new cliche.

The Boy's imagination actively blossomed during these two weeks. I know he's been dreaming and such, but this was the first time we could track his fantasies. I am really loving this. He's telling us about petting a buffalo and how Daddy rode it (I think that notion came from a dream). He played with carved ducks and declared the ducks were going to find water or grass or to ride the tractors. He had little stories about the horses and dogs. It was truly sweet.

I love listening to his voice. Matt claims he has a German accent. And, yeah, he kinda does. "Put zat ofver vere."