New Nate-ism

Driving along in the car with three cookies in a little plastic bag.

Nate: Can I have one of those Chanukkah cookies?
Me: sure
Nate: (after inhaling cookie number one) Can I have one more of those cookies?
Me: OK.  But this is the last one because we are headed home to have dinner.
Nate: Can I have that last cookie?
Me:  No.  I told you, it's almost time for dinner.
Nate: (after a longish silence from the backseat): Mr. Cookie, are you crying some tears? You are lonely in your bag and miss your mommy and daddy in my tummy.  You should come in my tummy and see your mommy.

Quote of the Week

Nate: "Don't squeeze me.  I'm not Play-Doh."

****

In the course of a 10 minute car drive, Dave taught Nate some meteorological facts.  Low pressure brings rain clouds and high pressure brings sun.
When Nate got home he proudly explained this to me - complete with squeaky voice and tiptoes for "high pressure" and assumed bass and squat for "low pressure."
Two days later he woke up in the midst of a truly impressive thunderstorm.  He looked around and said "We have thunder and lightning and rain.  We have low pressure."
If only the weathermen were so reliable.

Not exactly a car wash

Nate helped me unload the dishwasher before work this morning.  He very carefully took out the small plastic valves for his zippy cup and put them first into a later plastic container and then put the whole hint into a cabinet.
He got a special sticker for helping me out and he was VERY pleased with himself.
He then went on to entertain himself with his shoes and sunglasses while I loaded the dirty dishes and started the dishwasher.  It came to be time to leave and I could not find my car key.  It is a little brick of a key with a metal key that comes out like a switchblade and a couple buttons for remote entry.  I have had it for ten years and it has been dropped a lot.  It is held together by scotch tape.  At one point I asked the dealer for a new key.  "Sure," they said.  "for a mere $300."  I declined.
So, back to this morning and the missing key.
After hunting for a few minutes I said, "Hey, does anyone know where my car key is?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Nate, sprinting toward the kitchen.  He stopped next to the dishwasher.  "It's in there."
And it was, nestled into the silverware holder between two spoons.
Squeaky clean and thankfully still functional.

More Nate

Things Nate has said in the last few days.

When we were at the Butler Fair a few weeks ago we saw a white chicken that was throwing up.  It was super gross but Nate was fascinated and has talked about "that throwing up white hen" ever since.  When we were talking about what we might see at the Ohio State Fair, he announced that he wanted to see the "throwing up white hen".  Trying to prepare for the inevitable I said "Well, they may not have a throwing up white hen at this fair."
"No, just a brown one," he shot right back.
He then talked ceaselessly about when we would see the "throwing up brown hen, not a white one at this fair, Mommy Dactyl".

Getting out of the bathtub:
"Don't dry me.  I want to be wet and naked.  And cold."
Um, Ok.  I guess.

Yesterday and today when I dropped something in the kitchen:
"What happened, Hon?"
Me: "Did you just call me hon?"
All I got back was a sneaky look.

Putting on PJ's, the top, like many things, was a tight fit over his brainiac melon.
"I have a big head.  I don't like that big head."

After being tickled by his pediatrician:
"Mommy, that man was using his hand spider."

Dave remarked the other night that Nate was "scary smart".
"I'm not scary," Nate piped up.  "I'm nice."

We got a lollipop at his pediatrician.  Nate chose a purple one.  Driving home in the car, he had a revelation.
"This purple popsicle tastes like grape!"
"Well, Nate, purple popsicles usually taste like grape."
"Uh huh! And those red popsicles taste like cherry, and those pink popsicles taste like watermelon and those green popsicles taste like grass!"
"Grass? Really?"
"Yes, they do.  And those yellow popsicles taste like Mr. Sun."

When he repeated this observation about the rainbow birthday cake, Grandma Nancy asked if green might taste like lime.  "No," he insisted, "just grass."
Pause.
"Actually those limes taste like grass."
Touche.

Don't Say That in Public

A few mornings ago Nate observed the ritual of deodorant application.
"What are you doing?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"I'm just making sure I'm not stinky" I replied.
After a moment of consideration:
"You're a skunk! You're a stinky skunk!"

Except he doesn't start any words with "S"'s so what he said was
"You're a kunk.  You're a tinky kunk."
It sounded bad.  Really, really bad.
I'm waiting to get called into the principal's office, but it seems that thus far no one at school has been a "kunk".

Mind-works

Due to an unscheduled monsoon, we did not see any fireworks on Fourth of July.  Dave's parents had staked out a great spot down at the point and were protecting it from the expressed eminent domain of several large Pittsburghers.  We had planned to me them after spending some time at the New Fellow Welcome picnic.  It was literally as we were getting ready to walk out the door that the skies opened up and the water level in the pool started to rise.

No fireworks for us.

It was a bummer too because I had spent most of the day preparing Nate for the spectacle of loud explosions in the sky right above him.  We watched some videos on YouTube.  Talked about how Fireworks are pretty but loud and discussed strategies, such as giving big hugs and covering his ears, to deal with the noise if it got to be too much.

I also told him that the last time I saw Fireworks he lived in my belly and that he got so excited he was moving and kicking inside.  Initially, this did not get much of a response.  A while later, however, as we were on our way to the picnic, he piped up from the back seat, clearly at the end of a long period of thoughtfulness.

"Those fireworks be little loud. Scare Nate. Nate go back in your tummy and be safe."

*****

We had a hasty bath because it got late while we were planting our apple tree (more on that later).  Nathan was sitting in barely an inch of water, waiting for the tub to fill when he started loudly requesting "cold, cold water" which he gets, after the bath is filled, when I turn the tap down to a slow trickle for him to fill his various bottles and cups.  I told him no, not yet, when the water got up to his nipples, then he could have cold water.

He sort of listlessly stirred the water with his hands and then perked up.  he filled up his little bottle, poured it on his chest and announced "Yay! That water on my nipples.  Now I have cold, cold water. That's right!"

And, of course, because he is adorable and smart, we relented.

The Perils of Summer

Nate is asleep in his bed.
This may seem like an obvious statement but this morning it seemed like an unlikely outcome for tonight.
It starts last night when we ran around outside planting flowers and watering our garden.  Nate ran around like a wild man, and proving that he is my child, he refused to wear shoes for about half the time.
There were no accidents, no drama, and a fine time was had by all.
This morning, when I pulled him out of bed, I noticed an angry red spot on the bottom of his foot with a large splinter in the middle of it.
When he took is first steps of the morning he put his foot down, picked it back up and looked at me, his mouth formed into a little "O" of confusion.  "What happened, Mommy?" he asked.
I tried to explain about splinters but finally settled for explaining that when he was walking around with no shoes on he got a boo-boo on his foot.
Needless to say, this was an inauspicious beginning to his day.  While newly-bactrim-allergic-benadryl-snowed-Dave held him, I tried to get it out.  There was a big piece sticking out so I grabbed, and pulled, and  . . . half of it stayed firmly anchored in his skin.
After some time futilely trying to hold him still enough to fish it out, we gave up, covered it in Neosporin and a Band-Aid ("to keep it safe" says Nate) and sent him to school.
On the way to school, Nate piped up "That Nate bed get boo-boo on Nate foot.  Nate not sleep in that bed anymore"
I thought I'd done a good job with the explanation about the bare feet, but he had been fixated on the boo-boo so I tried again.
He listened, but then just shook his head.  "No, Mommy Dactyl.  That Nate bed put boo-boo on Nate foot. That's right! Nate not sleep in that bed anymore."
At this point I actually did get a little anxious because he can be a little strong willed (understatement of the year) and we really have just gotten him to sleep well again.

This evening, however, we tried again to remove the aforementioned festering piece of wood, and after that spot of misery, he wanted to retreat to the safety of his bed.
After he laid down, he was awake for a while, chatting with his stuffed dog.  "Nate keep that Band-Aid on.  That Band-Aid keep Nate boo-boo safe.  Feel Nate's foot all better."

From his mouth . . .

A new list of things I find charming about my boy.

1)  I have no idea where he learned this, but he acknowledges compliments with "Thank you".  "That's a nice shirt,"  "You look cute today,"  "I like those shoes," - all things I have heard said or said to him over the last couple weeks.  And he always smiles and says "Thank you".
And just to be clear, I don't mean to imply that Dave and I acknowledge compliments with a head toss and an "of course", it's just that until very recently he's always said nothing or "uh huh" and I've not made a conscious effort to change that.  It's intimidating to realize what he can learn by watching.

2) His "reading".
A few weeks ago, over a Saturday morning breakfast:
Dave: "What do you want to do today?"
Nathan: "Um, read some books."
Mommy: "We have succeeded."
The thing is, there are not enough hours in the day for us to read all the books he wants to read.  This is a problem I have struggled with my entire life, so I sympathize, and I love that his solution, when we don't have time to read to him, is for him to "read" to us.  He knows many of his favorite books verbatim, a fact he will prove by reciting pages of them to us over dinner or during a long car ride.  (Just ask him Big B, Little B, what begins with B?)  When he climbs into our bed in the morning with a stack of books and proceeds to narrate the story, carefully turning the book around to show the pictures, providing different voices and expressions of wonder or dismay as indicated, I just melt.  His dramatic interpretation of "Are You My Mother" is the finest thing I have ever seen.

3) The way he anthropomorphizes just about everything.
The trash can says "I like trash", his stuffed animals thank him for every morsel of food and care that they get, and last night, as I was cooking dinner, the pan full of hot oil suddenly exclaimed "I like chicken!" only the pan proved to be a skilled ventriloquist who could make its voice sound like it was coming out of the two year old hovering behind me.

4) His passion for water play
This is him "helping" with the garden last weekend.  Basically he managed to flood the backyard and keep everyone's feet cool.








And if you aren't thinking "Holy Moley! What a big boy!" you aren't looking.

About A Boy

This morning we were on our way to "school".  He loves to look for trash trucks, school buses, fire trucks, anything big, preferably with flashing lights.  He always tells me he has his "eyes open" for a train and a peacock.  Along the route we travel the odds of either are about the same, zero, but he looks every day.  Today we were talking about what school buses do and how someday, when he is big, he might ride a school bus to school.  "Uh huh" he agreed from the back seat "And, Nate get so big, Nate use that lawnmow just like DaddyDactyl."
It brought a little tear to my eye, that enthusiastic endorsement of his dad and the cool things he gets to do.  It seems that you don't have to be a baseball star, (or even a trash man, Dave) to earn the earnest admiration of your son.

*****

He has another obsession besides heavy machinery.  Poop.

Mommy: "What do you want for dinner?"

Nate: "How 'bout some poop?"

Mommy: "What book should we read for bedtime?"

Nate: "A poop book."

Mommy: What song should Mommy sing while I brush your teeth?"

Nate: "Um . . . a poop song!"

You get the idea.  I am choosing to view it as a logical move in the direction of potty training, but I am just plain tired of talking about the potential production of any one's butt.  It seems like every few seconds, but is probably not nearly that frequent, that he announces that he is about to poop.  And then, cheerfully, "No, just some gas."

Does he want to sit on the potty?  Um, no.  Or in his words, "not yet."

****

He spends so much time in his imagination right now that I think it was foolish to provide him with actual toys.  A few nights ago he played, for easily 20 minutes, with a small blue Care Bear (a gift from my other boy, Noah, on the occasion of my wedding) and all he did during that time was multiple repetitions of a pretend diaper change.  He would pick the bear up, squeeze his tummy, and make a little grunting noise.  "I smell somepin" he would singsong.  He checked for poo between the bear's legs and then ran around the living room gathering imaginary wipes and "a new Elmo" as we call the character emblazoned diapers in our household.  Then began the ritual of cleaning and applying cream.  ("That cream is nice and warm.  No little cold cream.  Yucky, yucky" - To which I reply - "sorry kid, you live in Pittsburgh in an 80 year old house.  Cold butt cream is the least of our problems.")  Eventually, with butt thoroughly cleaned, the bear moved on the a raucous game of "Rock-a-Bye-Baby" in which the baby bear repeatedly fell with a gleeful "Plop!"

But he doesn't use his creativity only for matters of the lower intestinal tract.  He vividly imagines food and drink as well.

And ceremony.  On Friday afternoon I picked him up early and we had Shabbat about a million times.  Solemnly wearing a fabric Frisbee as a kippa he took us through an entire Shabbat service.  Candles were lit, prayers were sung, wine poured and imbibed, Challah covered, lifted, unveiled, and greedily consumed.  All there on our couch with only some coasters and a paper towel.  I was impressed, proud, touched, and a little guilty.  After all, he didn't learn this nuance and detail from our spotty home Shabbat celebrations.  This is the product of school and Michal and the blessing that is the education and stimulation he gets when he is away from us.  (And yes, this is true, no matter how much I blather on in my coming post about my frustration with the above "school".)

All in all he is a joy.  Sometimes he is stubborn, difficult, demanding, and unreasonable.  But he's two and those two sides of the coin are what being a two year old is all about.

Hungry, Hungry Hebrew

Last night was not our finest hour as a family.
Dave and I came home cranky because I had a bad call Wednesday night, neither of us slept much, and neither of us had particularly good Thursdays.  Traffic was atrocious so getting home from work was struggle.  Rain + wind + someone seizing on the sidewalk = Nate being the last child to be picked up from day care.  He's always out of sorts when this happens and I don't blame him.  I can tell you from experience that there is something about being the last child left standing that makes you start to wonder if your parents are ever coming.  Maybe they got in an accident or maybe they just forgot.  So then we were all running late and dinner was late and Nate got too hungry - grumpy, uncooperative, plus complaining that "Nate tubby hurts".
I'm sure that anyone with kids has had an evening like this.  And maybe we're not the only ones who break our own rules because we think it'll make things a tiny bit easier?  Well, anyway, that was my rationale when I let Nate sit in my lap to eat dinner - something we just don't do.
For a few minutes it did seem to be better.  Nate stopped talking about Mommy holding him and started at least talking about what was on his plate.  He was lovingly fingering a small piece of matzoh.  We even let him dip it in his yogurt.  Oh, the forbidden pleasures.
And then the decision that was to change the course of the evening.  Nate held out his yogurt covered matzoh.
Nathan: "Mommy bite."
Mommy: "No, honey, mommy doesn't want your matzoh."
Nathan: "Mommy bite!"
Mommy: "No, really, honey, it's for Nate."
Nathan: "Mommy bite this please."
Mommy: "Oh, OK" accepting the tiniest sliver of coconut milk yogurt infused matzoh.
The last moment of silence of the evening, and then
Nathan: "Gimme that matzoh."
Mommy: "Sorry, Nate.  It's all gone in Mommy's tummy."
Nathan: "My matzoh.  Gimme that matzoh please." (Gimme, by the way, is a very recent addition to his vocabulary, and one I can definitely do without)
Mommy: "I can't, honey, it's just all gone."
Nathan: (Now trying to physically reach into my mouth) "Nate need that matzoh.  My matzoh."
So started the longest, loudest, and on some level, most amusing temper tantrum that Nate has ever treated us to.  There was crying and screaming.  There were increasingly incoherent pleas for matzoh back.  He continued to try to reach into my mouth to retrieve it.
I ran the gamut from ignoring to reasoning to giggling hysterically at his fairly comic distress.
Eventually I just took him upstairs and put his pajamas on.
Eventually he managed to eat a little dinner.
Eventually, far past his bedtime, he went to bed.
The first thing he said to me this morning?
"Mommy eat Nate's matzoh and Nate crying and crying."
Well, yes, that does pretty much sum it up.

More words of wisdom

We had a big snowstorm on President's day.  Nate and Dave made a snowman and rode the sled around the backyard.  By the weekend the snow was gone. 

Nate was very upset by the fate of his snowman.

"Melted" he lamented in the backseat of the car. "Yun melted snowman. Need more snow.  Make new one snowman"

"Where," I asked him, "do you think we will get more snow?"

He pondered this questions for a minute, brow furrowed.

"Nate ask snowman! Snowman get more snow!"

So far we haven't seen a snowman to ask, but Nate does keep his eyes open for one.

Nate-ism's part deux

Nate has rediscovered his love for "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see?".  If you don't know it, it is a children's book that starts with the above question.
"I see a red bird looking at me" answers the brown bear.
Then the red bird is asked and he sees a yellow duck looking at him, and so on.  It has a catchy cadence and we read it to him a lot this spring/summer when he was learning colors and animals and animal sounds but now that he has those firmly under his belt, the book had fallen by the wayside in favor of more plot driven thrillers such as  "The Little Lamb" and "The Little Duck".
They must have read it at school, because this weekend, he was in the car sing-songing "
"Brown bear, brown bear, what you hee? I hee Nate yooka at me."

Last night at dinner he was "prinkling yinmin yugar" (sprinkling cinnamon sugar) on his apples and singing the following:
"Yinmin yugar, yinmin yugar what you hee? I hee bopple (bottle) yooka at me."
"Bopple, bopple, what you hee? I hee yid (lid) yooka at me"
"Yid, yid, what you hee? I hee Nate yooka at me"

I love his creativity.  He is just a funny, funny kid.

Nate-ism's

A few Nate-isms to start your day with a smile.

1. Eyewater = tears (ie. Nate make eyewater.)

2. Jingle Bears = the current name for his gummy bear vitamins (I have no idea where this came from)

3. Mommy hold you, right now = what he mutters over and over and over as a mantra until he falls asleep

4. yellow spill = throw up or a particularly wet burp

5. do beans = scoop the coffee with daddy and start the grinder

******

Nate doesn't like carrots.  It's one of the only vegetables he's not allergic to so we'd love for him to eat them, but they are "yucky, yucky".  Cooked, raw, with honey and butter, or in soup/stew, it doesn't matter.  He can find a tiny fragment of carrot and discard it.  Enter "Runaway Bunny", a delightful book about a baby bunny who wants to run away and whose mommy chases after him.  It is one of Nate's current top 3 favorite books, and he keeps telling me his is a "Runway Bubby" and taking off so I will chase him.  In the book, the mommy bunny lures the baby back with a carrot, so last night at dinner I asked him if he wanted to eat carrots like the Runaway Bunny.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, opening his mouth for a bite of carrot.

I put a piece on his tongue.

He spit it out.

"Yucky, Yucky" he said with indescribably adorable face.

He was quiet for just a second, plotting, and then announced with a very serious expression, "Runway Bubby like chocolate cake"

Dave and I laughed until we cried.  And yes, we gave him some chocolate brownie for dessert.