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Posts Tagged ‘talking’

L demonstrated his lack of a firm grasp on numbers when he explained how he’ll always be older than S:

L: She’s only 2. I’m 4 now but soon I’ll be 5:30.

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Grandma recently took L to visit his great-uncle in a nursing home. It was time for weekly services, and L seemed puzzled by the congregation’s prayers:

L: What are they doing?

Grandma: They’re praying.

L: [Looks totally bewildered]

Grandma: L, do you know what praying is?

L: Yes, lions prey and jaguars prey….

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How boys play:

L: Here, S, take this magic wand.

S: ‘tay.

L: And this one is mine.

S: ‘tay.

L: And now… FIGHT TO THE DEATH!

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New mantra that I will share with L when he has a 4-year-old son (assuming we both live to see the day, and that my mantra is true enough for some woman to have kids with him):

He does not have a permanent personality disorder; he’s just 4. He does not have a permanent personality disorder; he’s just 4….

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WTF Tapas

Lately L wants to know not only what animal he is eating, but what part of that animal. He became upset yesterday over ham. Not because he was sad that he was eating pig, but because he was sad that the pig’s face had been removed.

Along these lines, when he asks what animal he’s eating, he checks to make sure he understands by doing an impression of the animal.

“What aminal is this from?”

“That’s chicken.”

“As in bok-bok chicken?”

“Yes, as in bok-bok chicken.”

These conversations have permeated S’s consciousness and now whenever she eats anything, she says “bok-bok” and does spastic chicken flapping with her arms.

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One of S’s favorite songs is Wheel’s on the Bus. Her favorite part is the horn going “toot, toot, toot” complete with horn honking motions. In our house, toots, and tooting have a whole ‘nother meaning. (Can you see where this is going?) Whenever S passes gas, she excitedly acts out honking a bus horn and shouts out “toot, toot, toot!” It’s so cute, it makes me just want to feed the kid beans.

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I’ve mentioned before that S has nothing interesting to say, and yet she talks constantly. I’ve tried explaining to her what ought to be said aloud, and what is not interesting enough to say. For example, while driving in the car in the afternoon, it is not necessary to observe, “Me no see moon.” One need not list all the things one does not see at a given time. I answered, “Me no see elephant.” She is not learning.

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Conversation with T at 6 AM this morning (we aren’t the happiest people at 6AM):

me: I ordered S her own clock so she can know when it’s morning.

T: What? Why?

me: What do you mean why?

T: Can’t we just rig one?

me: Rig one? With paperclips, weights and rubber bands? WTF are you talking about?

T: No, I meant with a lightbulb and a timer.

me: OMG, you’re a crazy man. She can have her own clock. She’s her own whole person.

S: Ya! Me me own person! Me me own person! Daddy, me me own person! Me me own person! Me me own person! Daddy! Daddy, me me own person…

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me to T: Maybe you could take L to the market with you and he might S-L-E-E-P in the car.

L (extremely excited): Does that spell “guns in the car”?

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There was a time not so long ago when all I wanted was for S to talk. I worried, fretted and blogged about it. As everyone promised, she eventually did start talking. Now I have a different, somewhat predictable problem: I can’t get her to stop! She chatters constant nonsense from the second she opens her eyes until she finally falls asleep.

She is loud and has nothing interesting to say.

The unceasing high-pitched noise has me overstimulated at all times. I can’t think straight. I swear we could replace water-boarding with 24-hour recordings of her and prisoners would confess everything.

She does say cute things. My favorite is that she calls animals by the sounds they make. When she sees a monkey she calls it “ah-ah-hoo-hoo.” Obviously, I show her monkeys all the time. She thinks the happy birthday song is actually “happy cake,” but she can’t pronounce cake very well. She proudly belted out her version at my father’s birthday recently:

Happy cock is Papa! Happy cock is Papa! Happy co-ock is Papa, Happy cock is Papa!

What drives me crazy is the noise she fills all quiet space with. The talking for no reason, with nothing to say. We can drive for 20 minutes with her repeating, “Go home, Mommy? Me in? Go home, Mommy? Me in? Go home, Mommy? Me in?” The fact that I answer her has no impact on her continuing to question if we are in fact going home, and if I’m going to let her inside rather than leave her out in the car. (WTF?) Worse is when we’re not going home, then we have this conversation:

S: Go home, Mommy?

me: No, S. We’re going to the market, then we’re going to pick up L, then home.

S: Go home, Mommy?

me: No. First the market, then L, then home.

S: Pick up Unna? [Her name for L]

me: Yes. First the market, then L, then home.

S: Go home Mommy?

me: $#%&*@!

This can go on forever. Nothing makes it stop, except one thing that is even more loathsome than this conversation – playing a certain children’s CD, but only repeating an irritatingly chipper version of “If You’re Happy and You Know it.” I try not to do that until I’m considering driving into a lake.

So, be careful what you wish for. I wanted her to talk and I got it. Apparently she’s making up for lost time. God willing, her neck will grow soon and her vocal chords with it and the pitch of her voice will come down a bit. I’m not even going to bother hoping for the volume to come down. She and her brother have 2 volumes: shouting and screaming.

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Conversation over dinner the day after I came home from my spa weekend, proof that T watched hours Food TV with the kids while I was away:

L: Mommy, this is so good!

me: Thanks, L, glad you like it.

L: The pasta is cooked perfectly. And I love how the sauce is sweet and peppery at the same time. It tastes really good in my mouth. (This is all said with utmost seriousness, like a bona-fide food critic.)

me: Wow, thanks, L. That’s a really nice complement.

L: Yes. The sauce is very complemented.

On another night:

“All this flavorment is so great and awesome! I love the flavors and the, like, YUM.”

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S is fully potty trained. Yay! She now drops trou wherever and whenever she needs to pee. I have to keep a steady eye on this. Middle of the playground? In the library? Supermarket? Some places are better than others for this. Also, she is very independent and doesn’t always tell me when she’s going to go. I was outside with both kids and naturally paying attention only to my iPhone. I look up and S is running around with pants around her ankles. Soaking wet pants around her ankles. She’s not good at aiming, or pulling pants up apparently, but she’s perfectly willing to pee on the grass. Atta girl!

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Conversation in the car:

L: Mommy, did you know that peregrine falcons eat their own poop?

me: Really? Is that true? Did you learn that on Wild Kratts?

L: Yep. They eat it because they don’t have any other food.

me: Huh.

L: I mean, they have food. But they don’t have any money.

me: Peregrine falcons don’t have any money?

L: In their whole country there’s not enough money to buy a car to get the food home from the store.

me: And that’s why they eat their own poop?

L: It’s to survive.

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The fact that S blows kisses to me when she says goodbye has lost a little bit of its meaning ever since I saw her saying “bye-bye pee-pee” and blowing kisses towards the toilet as she flushed.

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I’ve mentioned before L’s favoring T over me. Nothing has changed on this front. On a recent Friday night L said to me at bedtime, “Daddy’s getting me up tomorrow. Can you please sleep or just stay in your room for a long long time?”

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S is proudly showing L all of her “artwork.” Instead of ignoring her and paying attention to the movie he’s watching. He hops off the couch and sits down in front of S. With each piece she displays, he exclaims, “It’s wonderful! That’s so beautiful! You made that?”

Heart melts. In moments like these I can almost (almost) forgive him for teaching S to say “Mommy is a stupid idiot.”
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Here’s a problem I have: I like to be expressive, really expressive. In the English language there are few words or phrases with more oomph than “fuck” and “Jesus Christ.” So, naturally, I say these and some other unsavory words a lot.

I realize that people might find these words offensive. Sorry. I don’t mean any offense. They’re just words to me.

I realize that some people might think I lack creativity if I can’t express myself without resorting to these. Maybe I do. But I like these words, and choose them on purpose.

My frequent swearing hasn’t been a huge problem for me since I was a kid myself. Back then, I got in trouble a lot, and there was not a single authority figure who was at all interested in my defense of, “But they’re just words!” At the ripe old age of 35, I’ve gone many years where the biggest repercussion I’ve suffered from my language is that I’ve probably repelled some people and made some lousy first impressions. Not terrific, but not a big deal.

Suddenly though, these very words are coming from the mouth of my 4-year-old. He is a frequent user of “damn” and “Jesus Christ;” thankfully, he’s backed off on his use of the f-word. For the first time I’m hearing these words in a different way. They’re fine coming from me to add some extra punch or humor, but from my preschooler? They sound so so wrong.

I could probably kick the habit, in front of the kids at least, if only I could avoid being aggravated, angry, frustrated and physically hurt. Considering who my 4-year-old is, avoiding these things is just not in the cards. So, do I teach him to do as I say not as I do? That would have bugged the hell out of me when I was a kid, so no. Do I stop saying them even when I step on a Lego after finding L stealing gum from my purse? I just don’t see that happening, so no. Do I teach him that there’s a time and a place for different kinds of language use? This is what makes the most sense to me, and it’s what I actually believe, but is there a time and place for a young kid to swear? Probably not.

I think I’ll just have to add this to my growing list of parenting fails. Unless he stops swearing, L will see the inside of many principal offices, just like his mother did. For his sake, I hope he quickly accepts that certain language is just not acceptable in certain situations. I hope that he does not take his mother’s childhood position of: I will continue to say these words to express myself until all the people around me realize they are just words, so they can lose their ridiculous, artificial power.

Hmm, I wonder where he gets his stubborn streak and his penchant to disobey authority?
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WTF Tapas

S finally said her first sentence! As a reprieve from her usual pointing, shouting a word and screeching, she said, “There’s bubbles in the bath!” We’re all very happy. She followed this up with pointing, shouting “bubbles” and screeching.

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In the car L suddenly exclaims: “Mommy, I saw 2 bears!”

me: mm-hmmm. (clearly I pay a lot of attention.)

L: No, not bears. Um, what are those things?

me: dogs?

L: No. I know. Bullies. I saw two bullies!

me: Bullies?

L: Yeah. But not the people kind. The other kind. With horns.

This is when I died of cuteness as I realized L calls bulls “bullies.”

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My kids drop things like cereal and gold fish on the floor like it’s their job. S is great about helping clean up. I’m always torn whether to make L clean up though. On one hand, he should because he dropped them, on the other hand, if he’s anywhere near them he is guaranteed to step on 5 and kneel on 8 making what was once an easy object to pick up into crumbs crushed into carpet. No amount of telling him to look where he steps and kneels helps. What is up with that?

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I’ve mentioned before how much L prefers T over me. T is like a rock star around here, and I’m like, uh, well I guess a servant that you really need around but don’t like that much. Anyway, the other night two things happened to illustrate this. First, L had a complete meltdown because he wants to marry T and he’s upset that T married me instead. (WTF?) Second, L comes out of his room after bedtime and says to me from the top of the stairs, “Mommy, can you please tell Daddy a message for me? Can you tell him that I love him more than you? I mean, that I love him more than I love you. OK? Can you tell him that?” Nice.

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WTF Tapas

Talking to L about a pair of identical twin girls:

me: Can you tell them apart?

L: Yes, it’s easy.

me: How? Which is which?

L: G is the one with the beaver.

me: The what?

L: Beaver. She has one and showed it to me.

I just chalked this up to a misunderstanding and ended the conversation there. 

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L: Smells good. What’s for dinner?

me: Chicken.

L: Chicken on the cobb?

me: Yup.

L: My favorite! You know those are dinosaur bones.

Chicken on the cobb is what L calls a chicken drumstick. I will never correct this.

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Discovery: I was talking to T about how I hate toys with multiple pieces. I hate cleaning them up, I hate trying to play and discovering missing pieces etc. I jokingly said, “I just want to throw all the puzzles away.”

He said, to my surprise, “You might as well. Whenever I’m cleaning up and I find a puzzle piece I just chuck it.”

“What???”

“I’m not going to go through all the puzzles and find which one it goes to. So I throw it away.”

No wonder we don’t have a single complete puzzle in this house. And here I was blaming the kids!

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S is the best person to share a sandwich cream cookie with. This is because she’s stupid unworldly. I twist the top off and hand it to her. I get the bottom with all the cream. We’re both happy.

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In the car the morning of S’s birthday, on the way to buy balloons:

me: L, when you were little you couldn’t say balloon so you said “babloon.” It was so cute.

L: (exaggerated, head thrown back laughter) That’s so funny. Now I can say things much better. I can even say ‘hostible’ [sic]. See, ‘hostible, ha-ha-hostible. ha-sta-bull.'”

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