Sign of the times

We just got back from having fast food for our New Year's Eve dinner. As you can probably guess, that wasn't the original plan.

A couple of our friends invited us to meet them at a steakhouse, and we were excited. We hadn't had a chance to hang out with them in quite a while. Plus, they have a son who's only 3 months younger than Biscuit.

Jeff and I used the call-ahead seating option, thinking it would make things easier with the boys, as 2-year-olds aren't known for their patience.

We got to the restaurant, and our friends were already there. They didn't know we had called ahead, so they had put their name on the wait list. We met at 5 p.m., thinking that should ensure us a quick wait before being able to eat (or more accurately, a quick wait before we could feed our boys).

Our friends were told there was a 30-minute wait. And Jeff and I found out the call-ahead seating was baloney. All they did was move our name from the call-ahead list to the bottom of the wait list.

At 6 p.m., we were still waiting, and the hostesses were still telling people it would be 30 minutes as they walked in the door. One of our boys was on the verge of a meltdown, and the other was starting to whine about being hungry.

Our friend made a joke about just going to a fast food place, and the more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Even if they had called our name next to take us to our table, we would still have had to wait for our server, then wait for our drinks, then wait for our food. And for toddlers, waiting for an hour to get to the table is bad enough, much less all the other stuff.

So we had some fast food and let the boys play, the adults were able to talk, and we had plenty of room to spread out. We were all getting pretty stressed out at the steakhouse, so I think the fast food place just allowed us to be more relaxed and at ease.

It wasn't exactly what we had planned for our New Year's Eve, but anyone who's had a toddler knows that 2-year-olds are unpredictable, and until they're not toddlers anymore, our lives will be unpredictable, too.

Merry Christmas (a little late)

Biscuit was in a singing mood today, and as we were packing up the Christmas decorations, he grabbed some jingle bells and started singing.

This song will be our official closing ceremonies of Christmas.

Happy Biscuit

Biscuit is happy. And that makes Mama happy.



And for those you who aren't familiar with kids' TV, first of all, you're very lucky! and secondly the song Biscuit is singing is the theme song to "Wonder Pets."

"Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets, we're on our way
To help a baby animal and save the day
We're not too strong, and we're not too tough
But when we work together, we've got the right stuff.
Goooooo Wonder Pets, Yaaaaayyyyy!"

Christmas extended

Biscuit was so overwhelmed (and we were, too) by everyone's generosity at Christmas. He got books and toys and clothes and musical instruments and ... you get the point.

So we decided to hold back a couple presents from Jeff's parents until today.

It was a good idea.

This "Cars"-themed helmet goes with ...



























... this "Cars"-themed scooter." Biscuit tried to ride the scooter like we told him, but it didn't work quite right. So ...



























He figured out his own way to do it. Either way, it was a great present, and he said, "Giffin happy."

Speak up!

I won't beat around the bush when I say I think my son is really smart. But hey, don't all parents think their kids are smart?!?

But I would love to tell people out there in the world that we're not trying to impress anybody when we make our son say "hello" or "thank you" or "I want a sannich (sandwich), please." We're trying to teach him how to socialize with people, how to ask for what he wants and how to do both of those things without being a rude little snot.

I translate when it's needed (like when we're ordering at restaurants), but I encourage him to talk to people and ask for what he wants. When my brother and I were kids, our parents made us order at restaurants. They gave us a couple of choices, and when the server came, we told him or her what we wanted to eat.

By doing that, we learned early on that by looking people in the eyes and telling them what we want, they almost always gained some respect for our independence and social abilities, oh, and they gave us what we wanted!

At the time, I'm sure it was just an ego trip for us because someone was making a fuss over us. But now, I can talk to anyone, any time with no problem. And I relate it directly back to my parents teaching us how to do it when we were little.

So now we're working to do the same thing with Biscuit.

Last night, when we had dinner out, I ordered Biscuit's meal, then said to him, "Can you tell her what you'd like for dinner?"

"Sannich and fries," Biscuit said.

I put my hand up for a high-five and said, "Good job, little man!"

I'm okay, you're okay

Conversation just now with Biscuit:

Biscuit: I okay. I fine.

Me: I'm glad you're fine and okay.

Biscuit: I happy.

Me: It makes me happy that you're happy, little man.

And it really, really does.

No more apples? CATASTROPHE!

For the past couple of weeks, Biscuit has had a cold and hasn't wanted much to eat. This week, however, he is making up for lost time.

He is requesting food by name, and woe is us if we don't have what he wants. He doesn't understand how we could possibly be out of something he wants to eat.

Tonight was a good example. We had stewed apples last night with dinner, and Biscuit loves him some stewed apples. He ate two pretty-good sized helpings, then asked for more.

Our friend's grandfather died, so we wanted to go to the funeral home for visitation tonight. I had to work late, so I called Jeff and asked if he could give Biscuit a snack that would hold him over until we could have dinner.

Upon opening the fridge, Jeff spied the leftover apples and figured that would be a good snack.

And it was.

Until they were all gone.

And Biscuit wanted more.

Mayhem ensued, and poor Jeff had the nerve to try to appease Biscuit with apple sauce. Nothing doing. Everybody knows stewed apples and apple sauce are nowhere near the same thing.

The sad part is that Jeff said Biscuit had been in a great mood before that. I felt bad for both of them.

We spent about 20 minutes at the funeral home, and I was really pleased with how good Biscuit was. Even when he got antsy and was ready to go, all he did was say to me, "Ready to go home, Mom." He spoke to all the ladies who fussed over him, and he gave hugs to our friends when we got ready to leave. Then he walked over, grabbed his stroller and pushed it to where we were standing.

After the funeral home, we stopped by a restaurant we like. I figured I'd just let Biscuit pick off of my plate. But he asked for a sannich and fries. I was hesitant because when he was sick, we ordered for him at a couple of restaurants, and he didn't even touch the food. But tonight, he chowed down.

When Biscuit moved into the 2-year-old class at daycare, the weekly rate went down $5. I thought that would be a $20 a month bonus, but if he keeps eating like he has this week, it looks like that cash will be redirected toward the grocery bill!

Who is this child?

We've had several instances lately of the stereotypical 2-year-old behavior. Tantrums here and there, picky eating (he used to eat anything you put in front of him), not wanting to do the daily routine things, such as getting a bath, getting dressed or going to bed. None of those things has ever been a problem before.

We had a couple of those instances during the Christmas weekend. He asked for apple sauce then wouldn't eat it. He wanted to watch TV then got up and started playing instead. He wanted his coat on, even though we had no plans to go outside. Just ornery, stubborn, 2-year-old behavior.

Saturday night, we were at my Mama's house. Biscuit woke up about 4 a.m. and started calling my name. I asked him if he was okay, and he said, "Want go home, Mom."

Biscuit has a really nice mattress on his bed. Believe it or not, it has the same back support as the mattress on mine and Jeff's bed. So I'm sure that sleeping in a playpen in a room that wasn't his own was not the most desirable way for him to spend a night.

We found out this morning how glad he was to have spent the night in his own bed in his own room.

When Biscuit got up this morning, he was the most cooperative child you could ever imagine. Jeff asked him what he wanted for breakfast, and he said he wanted oatmeal. Then he proceeded to eat the entire bowl, non-stop.

After Biscuit finished eating, Jeff took him into our bedroom to strip him down for a bath. Biscuit then walked on his own into our bathroom, climbed over the side of the tub grabbing his duckie on the way and sat down, even though there wasn't any water in the tub yet.

Biscuit allowed Jeff to dress him with no drama. He got his shoes and coat on with no problem. Then he went off to day care as happy as a clam.

Jeff did have to deal with a couple of issues when he went to pick Biscuit up this evening. Apparently, Biscuit was mad that Jeff didn't pick him up in Grandpa's car. Jeff was off last week, so he took his parents around town to do some Christmas shopping. Their car is bigger than Jeff's, so they moved Biscuit's car seat to the back seat of Grandpa's car. I guess Biscuit enjoyed the ride.

The other issue was that Biscuit told Jeff that wanted to go see his Mama. I know that wasn't fun for Jeff, but I have to say, it made me kinda happy. I'll never get tired of hearing that my baby boy wants his Mama.

The sweetness continued into this evening. He cleared his plate at dinner and asked for seconds. Then he was actually excited about taking a bath. He sat with us in the living room for a while.

Then Jeff asked, "Are you ready to go to bed, Biscuit?"

"Yes," Biscuit said. "I ready."

And off to bed he went. Let's hope we have that same sweet kid when Biscuit wakes up tomorrow morning!

Who ya gonna call?

Biscuit got his very own cell phone and key fob. And of course, they both make noise. The key fob has a cranking car noise, a car alarm and the beep-beep you hear when the doors lock. The phone makes dialing noises and believe it or not, makes clicking noises like you're taking a picture.

Biscuit picked his phone up and started pushing buttons.

"Who are you calling, Biscuit?" I asked.

"Santa Caus," he said.

"What are you going to say to him?" I asked.

"Hey-ho (hello). Santa came see Giffin," Biscuit said into the phone. "Thank you, Santa Caus."

Christmas morning

We made our usual rounds this Christmas to make sure we spent some time with everybody. We were with Jeff's family on Christmas Eve, home for Christmas morning, then with my family Christmas evening.

I was worried that we would be rushing Biscuit's Christmas time by spending time away from home on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but he seemed to have a good time with everybody and went right along with whatever we were doing.

We took Biscuit to see Santa, and he also has several Christmas-related books, so when Christmas morning came, he sorta got it.

The first problem we had was that he slept late ... really late for him. Biscuit is usually up by 7:30 a.m. at the latest. Even on Saturdays and Sundays. He doesn't understand the sleeping-late-on-weekends thing yet. So I got up, got some things ready for our trip later that day, and waited ... and waited ... and waited. Jeff got up, and I made him some coffee.

"He's not awake," I said.

"That's okay. Let him sleep as long as he wants to," Jeff said.

"WHAT?!? It's Christmas morning. He needs to be awake. Santa came! Go poke him," I said to Jeff.

"I'm not going to poke him," Jeff said.

Luckily, I heard Biscuit start stirring upstairs. Then he started yelling for Jeff to come get him.

When you step out of Biscuit's room, you can look over the loft railing down into the living room. Jeff went up to get Biscuit, and when they stepped out to the railing, I got his attention from downstairs. Biscuit's eye immediately went to a big red dump truck. "Need dump truck, Dad. Need dump truck."

Jeff brought Biscuit downstairs, and he went straight for the truck. Then he sorta staggered back and started to take it all in. "Got books, Mom. Oooo. Guitar." He grabbed the guitar and started pushing buttons. The guitar has buttons and levers instead of strings and each one plays a different snippet of a song. And luckily, it has an off button, too.

Biscuit almost looked over a red bucket of vehicles. They're very simply made, and they all link to each other. The bucket includes cars, trucks, boats, airplanes, trains and helicopters. He took one of each out and named them and made their appropriate noises. "Chugga, chugga, chugga, chugga, choo-choooooo."

All in all, it was a fun morning. Here are a couple of pictures.

One tired Biscuit

I think my Biscuit baby was tired. What do you think?

He's had a nasty cold and hasn't been eating much of anything. So even though it was 10 p.m. when he asked for toast, Jeff made him a piece on the off chance that he just might eat it. And he did eat most of it ... until he fell asleep ... with the toast hanging out of his mouth.

I don't need no stinkin' bed

Biscuit has a cold and just hasn't been himself for the past few days ... including not wanting to go to bed at his usual time.

Here's the conversation that just took place:

Jeff (at 10:40 p.m.): Why don't you like to go to bed anymore, Biscuit?

Biscuit: I don't know.

Jeff: Isn't going to bed fun?

Biscuit: No way, Dad. Want to watch "Wonderpets."

Missing out

Besides marrying Jeff, having Biscuit is the best thing I've even done. No question.

But ... there are times when I feel like I'm missing out.

Jeff and I love movies. We used to see at least one movie per weekend, sometimes two. In the past two years, I think I've seen about 10 movies total at the theater. We get DVDs and watch TV, but it's not the same.

We also used to see a good many music shows around our area. I took Jeff to a concert last week as part of his Christmas present. Other than that, the last music show we saw together was when I was pregnant, more than 2 years ago.

But the thing that has bothered me most lately is that I don't get to keep up with friends as much anymore. I have a regularly scheduled gathering with three girlfriends, but with conflicting schedules lately, that meeting hasn't happened as often. Friends' lives are continuing as usual, but I'm out of the loop.

I don't have time to keep up with the social networks. I don't text. Cell phone calls are usually kept to a few short minutes. And spur-of-the-moment coffee dates, all-day shopping trips or scheduled spa treatments are almost non-existent.

Need proof? Two of my friends went together and got me a gift card for an "ultimate pedicure" for my birthday. My birthday is in July. I got the spa treatment last week ... by taking a vacation day. But boy was it worth it. My toes are the shiny red of the glass Christmas balls on our tree!

But ultimately, the disappointment I occasionally feel about my lack of social interaction is no comparison to how I feel when I look at Biscuit's sleeping face or when he hugs my leg and says, "I love you, Mom."

It's a trade off, but it's absolutely one I'd make over and over again.

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I just had this conversation with Jeff after reading him this post:

Jeff: What worries you about the post?

Me: It sounds like a pity party. And I hate pity parties.

Jeff: I don't think it sounds that way. It just says how you feel.

Me: Well, I guess the ending is the important party. It isn't just about me anymore. Life is different now, but it's good.

Patience is a virtue

I've always thought I was lacking in the patience department. But as I've grown older, I've figured out that it's not that I don't have any patience, it's that I don't have patience with certain situations. I guess I the old saying is true for me ... I don't suffer fools lightly.

I get really riled up in traffic. I get incredibly frustrated with people who don't work hard at their jobs. I get so mad at people who don't show common courtesies to others.

But when it comes to my son, my patience seems to be exponentially greater. Sometimes, much like his father, he is soooooo slow. Some mornings it takes him 5 minutes to get from the house, down the steps and to the car. But it's important to him that he gets to do it himself. Therefore, it's important to me, and my usual speed decreases to match his slow-pokey-ness.

It happens at meal-time, too. It's important for Biscuit to use his fork and spoon and feed himself. He's pretty good at it, too. But oh, how I have to hold myself back. Sometimes it takes him FOR-ever to eat. And he spills food. And he gets excited and waves his fork back and forth, flinging food on the table and floor. And he gets some bites alllll-most to his mouth before the food falls off the fork. But instead of grabbing the food and shoving it in his mouth, he puts it back on his plate and starts all over again. (There is documented stubborn-ness on both sides of Biscuit's family.)

And it happens when he's playing, too. He stacks his blocks together as high as they'll go, then they all fall over, and he has to start again. Sometimes I'll explain to him that if he'll build a more solid foundation for his blocks, he can build higher. But I have to walk that fine line between explaining/helping/teaching and taking over/doing it for him/not letting him figure it out on his own.

I don't know where this patience comes from. I've tried to rationalize that if I can have this kind of patience with Biscuit, I can have it for that little-bittty lady in that big ol' SUV with the cell phone pressed against her ear who has no clue how to drive. But then I realized, I have a vested interest in my son. I want him to learn and grow and become his own little person. As far as that little-bitty lady in the SUV, it's better if I just keep those thoughts to myself.

Dancing Santa

Who needs one of those battery-operated dancing Santas when you can have a real-live one?!?

Recipe for Real-Live Dancing Santa

Ingredients:
1 little boy who likes to get down
1 hand-me-down Santa suit
1 Ho-hos hat (what Biscuit calls his Santa hat)

Mix them all together with a little funky holiday music.

Yield: One groovin' little Santa man

Thank you for letting me know

I was in the laundry room just now, loading clothes in the washer, and Biscuit walked up behind me and was trying to tell me something.

I couldn't understand what he was saying over the noise of the washing machine. So we walked into the kitchen, and then it all became clear.

He held his index finger up in the air and said, "Get boogah, Mom?"

He had picked his nose and a sizable, gooey prize was balancing on the top of his finger.

So I grabbed a tissue, and we got things cleaned up.

He said, "Thanks, Mom. Get boogah out."

"Thank YOU for telling me about it," I said back to him.

I figured if I encouraged him, he might tell me again instead of me having to find that prize on the coffee table or the couch or some other place.

I know they have to learn everything ... from how to eat to ABCs to getting dressed ... EVERYthing. But I honestly never thought about needing to teach him what to do with things he found in his nose!

Oh well. One more lesson learned!

Bad Mama.

I sent Biscuit so day care with his shoes on the wrong feet this morning.

I really wish I had an excuse. But I don't.

Jeff loves a scene in "The Blues Brothers" where Jake is trying to get himself off the hook for doing something dumb. He says, "It wasn't my fault. Honest! I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car! There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn't my fault!!!"

Yeah, that's what happened.

SHE CUT MY BABY!!!

That hateful woman cut my baby! She made my baby BLEED!!!

Okay, she's not actually a hateful woman. And he only bled a few drops.

Jeff took Biscuit to get a haircut this evening while I was running errands. Biscuit wanted to sit in the stylist's chair by himself. The stylist put a drape around him, and he just sat there looking around.

The stylist seemed to like Biscuit. He talked a lot to her, he liked the doorbell that rang when customers came in, and when her telephone rang, he said, "Telephone!" just to make sure she heard it.

Finally, the stylist started snipping. When she was almost finished cutting Biscuit's hair, she leaned in to cut close around his right ear. I guess it must have tickled Biscuit because he jumped, and the stylist nipped his ear with the scissors.

SHE CUT MY BABY!!!

Jeff said that Biscuit didn't even cry. He said his eyebrows furrowed together and he frowned like he couldn't figure out what happened, but then he just sat there.

The stylist, however, was pretty upset. Jeff said she started to freak out.

"Relax," Jeff said. "It's barely bleeding, and Biscuit isn't even crying."

Jeff was afraid that if she freaked out, Biscuit would freak out. So, he told her just to keep going ... and she did.

She didn't charge full price for the cut and seemed surprised when Jeff wanted to leave her a tip.

Biscuit has a tiny mark on the top of his ear and a cute, new haircut. I think everyone will be just fine.

Mills, Dad Mills

A post from The Daddy Man:

Biscuit and I were sitting on the couch reading books, when he looked up and said, "Dad Mills."

"Is that my name?" I asked.

"Yep. Dad Mills," Biscuit said.

So from now on, you can refer to me as "Mills. Dad Mills."

Playing in the snow

Jeff was warm and comfy in his sweats and slippers. The last thing he wanted was to do was bundle up and take Biscuit outside in the snow. After all, when he was a kid, he dealt with snow from late October until April. But after I reminded him that this would be the first time Biscuit played in the snow, and what with my whooping cough and all, Jeff begrudgingly got dressed and took Biscuit outside.

And yes, you read correctly. I have whooping cough! Can you believe that? It sounds like something out of the 1890s. I got three shots and two types of medicine. It's been pretty rough, but hopefully, I'm on the upswing.

Luckily, Biscuit has had enough of his pertussis vaccinations that he was able to fend it off. And unlike mine, Jeff's titer was still effective, so he didn't get the cough, either.

Anyway, back to the snow fun ...

I had already put Biscuit's snow hat on. But he decided he needed his baseball cap on, too.



























This hat makes it look like Biscuit has pigtails! Those overalls are great. They are waterproof and lined with fleece, so Biscuit was toasty warm while he played.



























Did I bundle him up enough? I felt kinda bad because the mittens I put on him didn't have thumbs. Plus, I put them on before I put on his coat, so they were tucked under his sleeves, and he couldn't have gotten them off it he had wanted to. He did manage to pick up a stick without using thumbs, but he couldn't make a snowball. Jeff had to make them for him.

Snow 2010 - The Movie

I took a couple of short videos of Biscuit in the snow. He didn't like it at all in the beginning, but then, as you can probably guess, after about 10 minutes, he didn't want to come inside. He was telling me that he liked the snowses (he's still figuring out plurals), but it sounded like, "Like noses, Mom."












And to whoever handed down the red, waterproof, fleece-lined overalls, thank you, thank you, thank you. They were PERFECT in the snow. Biscuit's legs were toasty warm when he came back inside.

Snow, snow, snow

Biscuit got a kick out of the snow we got today. He kept walking to the kitchen door to watch it.

"Look. No. It nowing. It nowing." No = snow.

So I asked him if he'd like to go outside and touch the snow.

"NO WAY, Mom!" he said to me.

So we watched it from the comfort of our warm house.

Dinnertime drama

I just left dirty dishes on the kitchen table, but I had to write this down RIGHT NOW to make sure I remembered all the details.

Biscuit has a high chair that mounts in a kitchen chair. And for the past little while, we've just been pulling it up to the table instead of putting the tray on it. He seems to enjoy eating at the table with us. Plus, it makes him closer to us so we can help him eat.

The problem, though, is that there's a crossbeam under the table that Biscuit has found, and he spends a good part of dinner with his feet propped there. That was fine until he started pushing off from the beam, using it as a lever to lift the front two legs of his chair off the floor.

Of course we've tried the logical approach of telling him that if he pushes too far, he'll fall. But he doesn't get it.

So Jeff and I tried putting a foot on either side of the chair to hold it down, but not only was that not comfortable for us, as soon as we moved our feet, he would do it again.

And sometimes, he'll even push the high chair back then put his feet on top of the table. Needless to say, THAT is not acceptable, either.

So tonight, Jeff had had enough. Biscuit pushed his chair into the air and got scolded. Then he put his feet up on the table. So Jeff grabbed the arm of the chair and spun him 90 degrees away from the table. Oh, but didn't THAT get his attention!

Biscuit burst into tears. He started talking, but we couldn't understand what he was saying. We didn't want to ask him to repeat himself because we were ignoring the whole tantrum thing.

Finally, as the tears were streaming down his little cheeks, Biscuit said, "I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad. Mom and Dad, I'm mad. I cying. I cying, Mom and Dad. I cying."

It was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen.

So Jeff said, "Biscuit, do you know why I pushed you away from the table?" "Yeeessss," Biscuit said, still crying.

"Tell me you're sorry for putting your feet on the table," Jeff said.

"Sowwy, put feet table, Daaaaaad," Biscuit said, still crying. "Down, pease, Dad?"

So Jeff took Biscuit out of the high chair, and Biscuit said, "Thank you, Dad." Then he took off running into the living room, crying the whole way.

Jeff and I just looked at each other. We didn't have to say a word because we were both feeling the same way ... frustrated, amused, mad and hoping we did the right thing.

A couple of minutes later, Biscuit came walking back into the kitchen, STILL crying, saying, "I cying. I cying. I cying."

So Jeff said, "Come here, Biscuit," then he picked him up and hugged him, then they headed to for bathtime.

It truly breaks my heart to see Biscuit so upset, but at the same time, we have to back up what we say to him or he won't learn. This parenting stuff is hard!

Funny words

Here are a few funny things Biscuit is saying right now:

For words that begin with the letters "sn," he doesn't pronounce the "s." So that wet white stuff we got today isn't "snow," it's "no." He also sees pictures of "nakes" and asks for a "nack."

If he sees an animal and doesn't know what sound it really makes, he assumes it roars. "Biscuit, what does a zebra say?" "ROOOOOOAAAAARRRRR!!!!!"

Motorcycles are "Go-go," so quite logically, bicycle is "bi-go-go."

When he holds his little baseball bat, he says he has a bat. When he holds a ball, he says he has a ball. But when he's holding both at the same time, he says, "Got ballgame, Mom."

As far as his accent goes, it ain't Southern, that's for sure. Well, all except when he says "fire." I turned the gas logs on in the living room, and Biscuit said, "Oooo, far." Nice. Not only does he have a one-word Southern accent. It's even more country-fied than mine!

The Daddy Man broke it

Biscuit was excited to see me come in from the grocery store last week with a crate of orange balls. I guess he assumed he would get to play with them.

Little did he know that they were clementines (from Spain, of course, according to The Daddy Man, we can't have those nasty California clementines).

So the first time Jeff started peeling one to eat it, Biscuit lost it.

He burst into tears and started yelling, "Boke it, Dad. Boke it." Poor thing though Jeff was ruining the orange balls I brought home.

Jeff tried to explain to him that it was fruit to eat, so Biscuit grabbed one and tried to take a bite out of it ... peeling still intact.

I think our boy has many food lessons to learn. I don't even want to think about the chicken, cow and pig conversation.

And then came superlatives

Remember all that stuff I was excited about Biscuit learning in the 2-year-old class? Well ... let's just say there are drawbacks, too.

Now, instead of saying, "Mom, I hungy," it goes like this:

Biscuit: "Mom, I hungy."
Me: "Okay, let's go to the kitchen."
Biscuit: "No. I REAWY hungy."

Same goes with "reawy seepy," "reawy tired and "reawy happy."

Oh, and we also now hear, "NO WAY, Mom" about dang-near everything.

"Are you ready for dinner?" "NO WAY, Mom."

"Let's get your shoes on." "NO WAY, Mom."

Wonder how he's gonna feel next time he wants to go outside to play, and I say, "NO WAY, Biscuit!" ??

Two-year-old class

Biscuit has only been in the 2-year-old class for a few weeks now, but we have really noticed his progress. I don't know if it's the teachers, the curriculum, the other kids in the class or just that our baby is an incredible genius (I vote for this one!), but he's really turning into his own little person.

The other morning, Jeff and Biscuit were having breakfast. Jeff had put one of Biscuit's CDs in as their dining music. I walked into the kitchen to find Jeff doing some kind of funny little dance, while Biscuit chanted, "Go Dada. Go Dada. Go Dada." After asking one of his teachers, I found out that's how they encourage the kids when they have dance time at day care. But he seems to be remembering that stuff enough now to come home and share it with us.

He's also getting into routines. When I get him from his crib every morning, I ask, "Did you sleep well?" He used to just say, "Yeah, Mama." Lately, he says, "Yeah, Mama. I seep well." And if I forget to ask, now, he volunteers the information on his own. "I seep well, Mom. I seep well."

Jeff usually gives Biscuit his bath after dinner. As he's taking Biscuit out of the bathtub, lately, Biscuit has been saying, "Brush teeth, Dad? Brush teeth?" He also has to have the same couple of toys in the tub with him (even though he has about 10). Biscuit also expects the same routine for post-bath. He and Jeff make all kind of weird noises at each other, then Biscuit gets a diaper and jammies. They have to talk about whatever critter or vehicle is on the jammies, too.

I need to interrupt this post to tell you about the scene on my couch right now. Jeff and Biscuit are reading "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" and when they got to the part about the white dog, both of them started barking and howling. Here's Biscuit's howl: "Ah ah ah oooooo!" And he says it just like I typed it, as four separate words.

Anyway, back to his progress ... Biscuit is also understanding more lately about emotions. He heard a baby crying in a store the other day and said, "Baby sad, Mom. Baby cying." Or a little boy threw a little tantrum in the store, and when Biscuit saw him, he said, "Boy mad, Mom." He often walks up to me and asks, "Okay, Mom?" To which I have to reply, "I'm okay. Are YOU okay?" Then he says, "I fine."

His self-awareness has also increased. He has told me at different times in the last week that he's hungry and that he's sleepy and ready to go to bed. "Seepy, Mom. Giffin go bed?" I couldn't believe my ears on that one, so I quickly took him upstairs to his crib, where he rolled right over onto his side and closed his eyes. Let's see how long that one lasts! As for the hungry part, he's also been telling us more often what he wants to eat, mainly at dinner time. Sometimes he gets it (pizza, fruit, milk), and sometimes he doesn't (cookies, ice ceam, cackas).

Oh, and I'd just like to say that I do know how to spell. I just try to type Biscuit's quotes the way he says them, i.e. seepy = sleepy, cackas = crackers.