Biscuit is still a music man, and I try to encourage it as much as I can.
He has an array of music instruments at his disposal: piano, guitar, snare drum, xylophone, electric keyboard, tambourine, castanets and train whistle. Not to mention all the battery-operated toys he has that make music and sing songs.
We also listen to CDs and the radio a lot. When we get in the car, I give him his choice of music to listen to. Sometimes he chooses, sometimes he tells me to choose. Lately, more often than not, he's been picking bluegrass. But sometimes it's rock 'n' roll. And sometimes we like to dance.
When my parents visited recently, my Daddy played my guitar and sang songs that Biscuit would know. So of course, Biscuit had to get his "rock 'n' roll guitar" to play along.
This evening, Biscuit went over and climbed up on the piano stool. I had left a music book out, and apparently, he's been paying attention when I flipped pages in the book to play.
A couple of weeks ago, Biscuit and I were upstairs sorting through his spring/summer wardrobe.
Let me just stop right there and say how thankful we are that we have hand-me-down hookups. I went to a couple of consignment sales this year, but once I went through the hand-me-down bins, I realized that even if I hadn't gone to those sales, Biscuit would still have plenty of clothes for warmer weather.
So as I sorted through and oohed and ahhed over all the cute shorts and shirts and bathing suits and PJs, I realized that I didn't know where Biscuit was.
I jumped up and yelled his name, trying to track him down. Mainly because I hadn't put the safety gate up at the top of the stairs.
"Biscuit, where are you?" I yelled.
"In here, Mom," he said. And I could tell his voice was coming from the bathroom.
I was immediately concerned. I was picturing him playing in the toilet or even worse, dropping things into the toilet. Or, JEEZY PETE! we never installed cabinet latches in the upstairs bathroom, so he could be getting into the cleaning products!
But as I turned the corner, I saw him stomping one foot on the edge of the scales. They're the old-fashioned kind with the needle that moves when you step on them.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!" Biscuit said. And I realized that he thought the scales looked like the speedometer or the RPM gauge in our cars.
Needless to say, Jeff was quite happy when I shared this story. And another car freak is born!
Biscuit and I play a little game every morning before we walk out the door.
I say, "Okay. What do I need to go to work?"
"Um, coat," he'll say.
"Yep. I need a coat," I'll say back to him. Then I'll put on my coat.
We go through coat, keys, pocketbook, other pocketbook (lunch tote), cell phone, and then we get to my favorite.
"Don't forget your CID, Mom," he'll say.
I have to wear an ID badge at work, and for some reason, he called it my CD. So I corrected him and told him it was an ID, not a CD. He settled somewhere in the middle and now calls it a "CID."
Biscuit was eating a banana for breakfast this morning, and his hands got pretty sticky. He really doesn't like to have dirty hands, so I went to the kitchen sink to wet a paper towel.
I didn't know Kimmy was in the shower, but as soon as I turned the kitchen faucet on, I found out.
She yelled out: "WHOOOOOOOOOO! DUUUUUUDE!!!!!" My turning the kitchen faucet on gave her a big blast of cold water.
Biscuit looked up at me with big eyes, then yelled, "JUST A SECOND MOM! I'M WITH DAD RIGHT NOW!"
I guess I didn't realize how often we refer to him as Dude.
I love to hear Biscuit talk. Sometimes I'm amazed by what comes out of his mouth, and sometimes what he says is just so funny I have a hard time not laughing.
Here are a few of the latest:
Geesen: This word is the plural of geese. You have your ox, your oxen and your oxens. And Biscuit has his goose, his geesen and his geesens.
Rough day: One of Biscuit's former teachers recognized that Biscuit was having a bad day.
The teacher said, "Are you being a good boy today?"
Biscuit nodded his head yes for a few seconds, then burst into tears and said, "Nooooooooo. Not good boy."
Thankfully, she grabbed him up and hugged him until he was better.
Father-son conversation:
Biscuit: Dad, can we change my diaper? I need a new diaper.
Jeff: Sure we can. Let's go.
The diaper change commenced.
Biscuit: Dad, I don't have poo anymore.
Jeff: Nope. The poo is all gone.
Biscuit: Good job, Dad. High-five.
And I heard a slapping sound.
Books: Biscuit is still crazy about books. We read to him ... a lot. So much so that as we were walking into the store this evening to get diapers, I was reciting a book to him.
"In the jingle, jangle jungle, on a cold and rainy day, four little friends found a warm place to play ..."
Lately, though, instead of asking us to read to him, he asks, "Dad, you help me read book?"
A second: It's funny how Biscuit picks up turns of phrase. One of his latest is "a second."
As in "Come here a second, Mom" or "I'll be back in just a second, Mom" or "I'll take a bath in just a second, Mom."
Pronunciation: "Biscuit, who are your friends at day care," I asked on our way there one morning.
Biscuit said, "Well, um, let's see, my fends are Dawus, Sophia and Mickanus."
"Darius, Sophia and who?" I asked.
"Mickanus," he said, trying to enunciate it very plainly.
I couldn't figure out who he was talking about until we got to day care, and I scanned down the names on the cubbyholes. Some of the kids have their pictures on their cubbies, so I asked Biscuit to tell me who the kids were. He named Darius and Sophia and then we got to "Mickanus."
Mickanus = Nicholas.
But what really made me laugh was that as I was getting ready this morning, I grabbed a necklace to put on.
"What you doing, Mom?" Biscuit asked.
"I'm putting on a necklace," I told him.
"A meckanus?" he asked.
I thought if he was looking at me as I said it, he might be able to say it correctly.
"Hey, Biscuit. Look at me. N-n-necklace," I said.
"M-m-meckanus," Biscuit said.
I considered trying again but had second thoughts, "Good job, Biscuit," I said.
I recently got a good deal on a spring-looking table runner, so I got out the Easter decorations for the dining room table. We have 3 baskets, 1 plastic dish, 1 rabbit-and-egg music box, 5 bunny figurines, 3 stuffed bunnies and 85,000 plastic eggs, including 3 green and tan camouflage eggs (I have no idea where those came from).
Since Biscuit can't reach the top of the dining room table (a good thing), I figured I'd give him something seasonal to play with. I took the plastic dish and filled it up with plastic eggs and set it on the coffee table.
Jeff was in the middle of reading a book to Biscuit, but as soon as the Easter plate of eggs hit the table, Biscuit hopped out of Jeff's lap.
"Dad, look! Eggs! Eggs are So COOO-UHL!!!!"
First of all, wow. I didn't know some simple Easter decorations could cause such excitement. And secondly, since when did he start talking like a 10-year-old ... cooo-uhl? Two syllables? Really?
Oooo. I just realized that he'll probably actually understand hunting Easter eggs this year. Easter egg hunts are SO COOO-UHL!!!
The weather has gotten warmer, and I have a feeling that we're going to spend a lot more time outside.
Jeff had a couple of basketball press conferences today and wasn't going to be home for dinner, so I decided that Biscuit and I would have a picnic on the back deck. I don't think we've eaten outside since last year, so when I suggested it, Biscuit looked at me like I had grown a second head.
But once we got outside, he loved it. He was chowing down on cheese pizza, watching cars, trucks and motorcycles go down the road, pointing out the airplanes overhead and tracking every bird and squirrel he could find. Every time he saw something of interest, he would gasp and his eyes would get big. And of course, that meant I had to gasp and make my eyes big, too.
After we ate, we went out into the yard to play. Then Mama came up with a really fun game! We could pick up sticks and throw them over the back fence!
"Yeah, Mom. Pick up sticks. Throw sticks!" The boy was excited. I think it was mainly because we were playing outside. Or maybe it was because I was actually allowing him to throw something other than a ball.
Either way, our game got the back yard ready for the first mowing of the season.
Biscuit and I sat in the swing for a while, and as the sun started to set, I told him we had to come inside. That did not go over well at all!
I hate to admit it, but I just really didn't want to deal with whining or a tantrum, so I said, "I bet you can't catch me," and started running toward the back door. He was in the house before he even realized it.
"Want go back outside, Mom?"
"No, we have to go read a book," I said to him. "Would you like to pick it out?"
Books and outside and his two favorite things, so I guess if he couldn't have one, the other would be okay.
Up until recently, Mr. Biscuit has not been a fan of ice cream.
I know, I know, who is this child, and what is his problem?!?
I'm not sure if it was the texture or the temperature or the flavor or what, but dude would just take one small bite, make an odd face and say, "Don't like it, Mama."
But times have changed, and Biscuit is starting to give in to the allure of ice cream.
We were walking through the grocery store yesterday, and he looked over and saw the boxes of ice cream cones. "Look, Mom, ice ceam cones," he said. "We have them?"
Biscuit doesn't usually ask for anything in stores, so when he asked for the cones, I had no problem saying, "Sure. We can get some cones, then we'll pick out some ice cream."
"Cool!" he said. "I need chockit." I wanted to say, "Hasn't everyone needed chocolate at one time or another?!?"
I asked Biscuit tonight if he'd like to have an ice cream cone, and as he gave me his answer, he also performed a cute, little dance. "Ice ceam. Ice ceam."
As I handed him the cone, I realized that Biscuit has never eaten an ice cream cone by himself. I started out telling him that I would need to hold the cone while he ate it. Biscuit didn't like that idea.
"I want hold it, Mom," he whined. "I want hold it." So I figured, what the heck? He did a really good job. There's no chocolate on the floor or furniture. As for Biscuit ... at one point he had chocolate all over his mouth, so he wiped his mouth on his forearm. Then he realized that his forearm was sticky and covered in chocolate, so he wiped his forearm on his pants.
Although I wasn't really pleased about him having chocolate on his pants, it was pretty funny watching his thought process.
My tree-hugging friend was with Biscuit and me at the playground yesterday. She got the opportunity to make fun of me as I got a little choked up about how independent Biscuit was and how he didn't need me there at all.
But I got my revenge.
As we were leaving to go to dinner, Biscuit said, "I see trees, Mama."
My friend said, "Yeah, the trees are pretty, but they help us, too. Trees help make air for us to breathe."
"Trees make air," Biscuit said.
"That's right," my friend said. "So next time you take a deep breath, you can say, 'Thank you, trees.'"
To which Biscuit replied, "Trees make world."
I can't do justice in describing the look on her face when he said that. But I swear, I thought she was about to cry.
"Did you hear what he said? He said, 'Trees make world.' Did you hear him?" she asked.
"Um, yes, I heard him."
"But how did he know to say that? Did he figure that out on his own? He loves the Earth," she said.
In the first year and half of Biscuit's life, he learned to roll over, sit up, crawl, walk and talk. He figured out how to feed himself, how to play, how to run and jump and climb. He accomplished all of these huge physical feats.
Then from about 18 months to the present, it seems like his biggest accomplishments have been more intellectual. He puts facts together and comes up with assumptions (sometimes right on the money, sometimes nowhere near reality).
Like yesterday evening, I pulled around to the drive-through window at the drugstore to pick up a prescription. The drive-through lane has a portico, and as we pulled up, we were behind another car. Biscuit looked around and said, "Oh. Get red cah cean." I asked him to repeat what he said, and he said, "We wash red cah. Get red cah cean." Then it occurred to me, he saw the shape of the portico and thought we were at a drive-through car wash. Makes perfect sense.
Another one I can think of is that all motorcycles are "Geg's mo-cycle." My brother has a motorcycle, therefore all motorcycles belong to him. Again, makes perfect sense.
But we spent a little over an hour at the playground this evening, and I realized a few things:
1. Biscuit is still making great physical strides. They're just not as obvious as the early accomplishments. 2. My little man is already showing leadership traits (read: he can be quite bossy). 3. Every day, it seems like he needs me a little bit less.
As he made his way to the playground from the car, Biscuit ran. He ran fast. He ran steady. And instead of watching the ground like he used to, he kept his eye on the prize: The Big Twisty Slide.
He grabbed ahold of the stair rail, walked right up the steps, climbed onto the next platform, scooted to the edge of the slide and down he went. He got to the bottom, dragged his feet on the sides of the slide to stop, then he scooted off the end and took off running to take another turn. And I stood there and watched in amazement. Last year at this time, I had to place him at the top of the slide then tell him to sit right there until I could get into position to grab him as he jetted off the end of the sliding board with reckless abandon.
I was just totally taken aback by the strength and balance he's gained in such a short time. He seems to have a confident air about him. Maybe all toddlers do, but I just hope he can hang on to that.
And speaking of confidence, for as long as I can remember, my family has been using the word bossy to describe me. It's usually in a playful way, but it's kinda true. I've never been shy about asking people to do what I wanted or needed them to do, and to my astonishment, they usually do.
A couple of years ago, I saw a guy I went to school with. We started kindergarten together and like most of the students in my class, we went all the way through 12th grade together. I have no recollection of this story, but knowing my history, it doesn't surprise me. But according to my friend, on our first day of kindergarten, I sat with him when I got on the bus. As we headed toward school, he made a comment to me about how scared he was. And he says that I looked him straight in the eye, grabbed his hand and said, "Just stay with me and I'll show you what to do."
Well, I saw a little bit of that in Biscuit this evening. This pretty little blond girl was standing on the platform trying to decide whether to go down the small slide, the fireman's pole or the big twisty slide. She must have been taking too long to decide or either Biscuit just wanted to end her dilemma because he looked her in the eye and said, "Go on. You go down big slide." The little girl looked at him for a second, then went down the big slide. I thought it was a cute thing for him to say, but then he made up several other children's minds as well!
All of this was in addition to the fact that Biscuit was looking fine today, and I think he knew it. He had on his distressed denim overalls with a green shirt (for St. Patrick's Day) and his darkest sunglasses with the flames on the sides. And I swear, at one point I think the kid was flirting with a couple of little girls who were at least 2 or 3 years older than him. One of them giggled, started jogging away, then looked back over her shoulder and said, "I like your sunglasses." Holy moly! It was like a preview of his teen years that I don't even want to think about yet.
As much as I enjoyed seeing Biscuit have a good time this evening, I also realized how independent he is becoming these days. He climbed up and went down the slides with no help from me, and he handled several situations of taking turns and navigating around other kids all on his own, too. The most I did was stand there and give him the occasional high-five as he ran by.
I love watching Biscuit grow and learn, but at the same time, what happened to that little-bitty baby that used to fit in the crook of my arm in my rocking chair?
Biscuit was heading toward sleepy-land, then Jeff got home. And as happy as I am to see Jeff, I now have a wound-up 2-year-old with no chance of a bedtime anytime soon.
Conversation just now between Jeff and Biscuit:
Biscuit: Dad, I want a snack.
Jeff: A snack? It's kinda late. Are you sure?
Biscuit: Yeah, Dad. I want a snack. Come on. It'll be fun!
Jeff just walked back into the living room after getting some graham cracker bears for Biscuit and said, "He lied. That wasn't fun."
I have stared into the face of evil, and I have lived to tell about it.
Biscuit and I are both sick. Sniffling, sneezing, head-aching, nose-blowing ... you get the idea. I know how icky I feel, and I can only imagine that Biscuit feels the same way. And it is making both of us grumpy, grumpy, grumpy. We are truly tired of each other. Jeff has been living and breathing college basketball for the past two weeks and still has another week to go, so we get to see him for a few minutes each morning, and that's about it.
Biscuit asked for pancakes this morning for breakfast. I thought it was a good sign because neither of us has had an appetite. I make pancakes in large batches then freeze them. That way, I can just heat them up one at a time. So I warmed up a banana pancake and added a drizzle of real maple syrup from New York (my in-laws have spoiled me with that stuff!). Biscuit ate about 3 or 4 bites, and then, "Done, Mom. Done." And he pushed his plate away.
I tried all day to get him to eat something ... anything ... but he kept saying he wasn't hungry.
Finally, about 4 o'clock, Biscuit said, "I want pancake." I had my doubts. He's notorious (as I've learned most 2-year-olds are) about asking for a specific food item and then not eating it. So I said, "Are you SURE you want a pancake?" He assured me he would eat it, so I got it ready.
We sat down at the table and with the first two bites, everything was great. "Yummy, Mom."
Then, he stabbed a piece of pancake with his fork, brought it to his mouth, then put it back in the plate. I asked him what was wrong with that piece. "Too big, Mom. Won't fit." I asked him what he meant, and he said, "Won't fit in my mouth." So I figured I would fix it. I reached over, grabbed his fork and cut the piece into two pieces.
And that's when Satan showed up.
Biscuit. Melted. Down. Crying, wailing, screeching, "YOU BOKE IT! YOU BOKE IT! YOU CUT PANCAKE!" over and over and over again. What was I thinking?!? How could I possibly have helped the situation by cutting that piece of pancake in half?!? How could I be so cruel?!?
And then to add insult to injury, I moved his milk cup so he could reach it better. "NO, MOM! MILK GOES HERE! MILK NOT GO THERE! MILK GOES HERE!!!" Then he started alternating between his complaints - cut pancake, moved milk, cut pancake, moved milk. Over and over again.
Everything in me wanted to scream and leave the room. But I just sat there and stared at him. I didn't say anything. I didn't move. I just stared at him. He wailed and cried and said the same thing over and over again. I finally started flipping through a magazine that was on the table and pretended nothing was happening.
After about five minutes (some of the longest five minutes of my life), Biscuit stopped crying. I looked up at him, and just as if nothing at all had happened, he said, "Mom, I watch TV?"
Are you kidding me?!? He drags out that kind of drama for five straight minutes, then just stops on a dime and wants to watch TV? I told him that he had to eat three bites of pancake and then he could watch TV. His response? A chipper little "Okay!" Then he ate three bites, chewing and smiling like it was the best thing he had ever put in his little mouth. After the third bite, he said, "Done, Mom. Watch TV?" Fine!
I'm telling you, when kids turn 2, little demons are dispatched to occasionally invade their bodies and change their personalities in five- to 10-minute spurts at a time.
I feel like the Little Engine That Could - "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can ... raise this kid without killing him!"
Since Biscuit and I were both out of commission yesterday, I decided that we needed a treat this evening. I picked him up from day care, and we went our for a cheeseburger/fries/chocolate milkshake dinner.
Except - and if anyone has an explanation for this, I'm all ears - my little date didn't want any of my chocolate milkshake. He loved his cheeseburger (he said it was "yummy for his tummy"), and he loved his fries ("need ketchup, Mom"), but he would not even try my milkshake, even though I told him it was like chocolate ice cream!
I think they might have switched babies in the hospital because this kid doesn't like ice cream. He doesn't like pasta (including mac and cheese). And beans are one of his favorite things to eat. Who is this child?!?
Anyway, we left the restaurant and headed home. We got stuck in traffic because of an accident. I could see an ambulance, a fire truck and two police cars before we got to where the accident was. Biscuit loves rescue vehicles, but I didn't draw his attention to it because I wasn't sure what he might see.
As we got closer, I heard his little voice in the back seat. "Look, Mom! It's a ice ceam truck!"
He was talking about the ambulance. I'm not sure how he decided it was an ice cream truck, but hey, ice cream trucks are way better than ambulances.
Kids have to grow up too fast these days, but I hope Biscuit can hang on to that innocence for a while.
Biscuit and I are home today with the same nasty cold. Congestion, sneezing and body aches. No fun. He's worse off than me, and I would happily swap that because he's just miserable.
My ears are bothering me, too. It's led to a lovely case of vertigo. There are few things I hate more than feeling dizzy. I think Biscuit might have a touch of that, too, because when he walks, he sort of lists to one side. It's either vertigo or he's got himself a liquor stash!
I feel bad but not bad enough to miss work. But with Biscuit being sick and Jeff covering a big tournament this week, I'm the designated stay-home parent. Of course, my co-workers are probably glad I'm not there sharing germs.
Also, did I mention how horrible daytime television is?!?
When Biscuit was a wee tiny little thing, I used to pray that he would sleep through the night. And for the past few weeks, I've been saying that prayer again.
When Biscuit was tiny, it was all about helping him figure out night from day, feeding him on a strict schedule and getting him used to his crib.
Nowadays, it's all about hoping the creepy-crawlies, monsters and other scary critters don't find him in his dreams.
Several nights over the past month, we've heard Biscuit screaming over the baby monitor. He calls for Mama or Daddy or one night he was just yelling "No, no, no," like he was trying to get something to leave him alone. His teachers at day care say he's even had a couple of bad dreams during their afternoon nap time. But whether it's at home or day care, it's such a helpless feeling to know that he's scared, and we can't do anything to help him fight off whatever is after him.
I read that as toddler's imaginations grow, so do their fears. It makes sense, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear him scream.
One night when Jeff went up to get him, Biscuit said there was something under his bed that was trying to get him. Jeff turned on the overhead light, got out a flashlight and showed Biscuit that there was nothing under his bed. But that wasn't enough. He was convinced.
Jeff brought Biscuit down to our room, and he slept with us for the rest of the night. Well, slept may not be the best word. Biscuit is quite the squirmer. He ended up lying across our pillows with his head against my head and his feet against Jeff's head. Thank goodness we have a king-size bed!
We've brought him down to our room several times, but then one night, he had a bad dream, and as I was walking up the stairs to get him, he saw me, turned around to get the stuffed puppy he sleeps with and said, "Ready go downstairs, Mama." It dawned on me that in our efforts to comfort him, we had created a bad habit.
"We're going to stay upstairs," I said to Biscuit. That was not the answer he was expecting. And he wasn't happy.
I sat with him for an hour and 40 minutes, and he finally went back to sleep. It was about 4:30 a.m. when I got back downstairs. Then at 5:15 a.m., he woke up again. Ugh!
Jeff and I looked at each other. "What do you want to do?" Jeff asked. I was too tired to fight it. "Just bring him down," I told him.
It's so hard to know what to do sometimes. My first priority is making sure that Biscuit knows that he is safe and that we're here for him. But at the same time, Jeff and I have to be well-rested to go about our business of working and keeping our house running.
I guess we'll figure it out as time goes by, but now that it's bedtime, I'm once again saying a silent prayer, "Please let my baby boy sleep through the night. Bring him peaceful thoughts and pleasant dreams."
At first, I thought Biscuit had learned some knock-knock jokes, but he never gave anyone else a chance to jump in.
He'll walk up to you and say, "Knock, knock. Who's there? It's Griffin."
Then he put it together that you say the whole knock-knock thing when you're knocking on a door. And if you think about it, what's the one door in your house that you close several times a day.
Yep, the bathroom door.
Now, I blame a friend of mine for what he figured out next. She wrote about how her daughter had locked herself in her room and couldn't get out. First of all, I felt so bad for her because that had to be the most helpless feeling. She got her daughter out, and everything was fine, but all I could think was that I was glad Biscuit hadn't figured out door knobs yet.
And guess what happened that evening?
I was in the bathroom, and I heard a rap-tap-tapping on the door.
"Knock, knock. Who's dare? Giffin," Biscuit said.
"Mama's using the bathroom. I'll be out in a minute," I said to him.
And then ... the door knob starting turning!
Yep. He just opened the door and came right in. He rested one hand on each of my knees and said, "What doin', Mom?"
I don't care to get into the specifics of the rest of our conversation that evening, but I can tell you that we've begun the conversation about privacy. We'll see how it goes from here.
Even though it's only been a week, it feels like it's been forever since I got to sit down and write anything. Maybe it's because I have a long list of things I want to write about but just haven't found the time to do it.
Part of the problem is that Jeff is swamped with college basketball these days. And so it goes this time of the year. He's worked 10 days straight and has about five or six more days to work before his stretch will be done.
That leaves me and Biscuit on our own. And sometimes we get tired of each other! And we get grumpy! And we want our husband/daddy!!!
But all that aside, here are some quick hits about what's up with Biscuit these days.
Trying on clothes: As we near another season change, I figured I better do an inventory of Biscuit's spring clothes. I went into the attic and got out the bin with last year's spring/summer clothes in it and the bin with hand-me-downs in the next size up.
Two quick sidebars: A. I love, love, love that the attic in our house is a walk-in and not a climb up. The attic space goes out over the garage, so there's a door upstairs that looks like a regular closet door, but it opens up to a huge room of storage space. And 2. My favorite consignment sale is this weekend, so cross your fingers that I'll find some good stuff at good prices.
Oops. One more thing. I said "cross your fingers" and it reminded me of something that happened this past weekend. Biscuit and I were at my parents' house in S.C., and Daddy rode with me to look at a kitchen table at a furniture store. My Daddy can be pretty superstitious, and as we were pulling into the furniture store parking lot, I said, "Deddy, cross your fingers that I'll like this table." (And Deddy is not a typo, that's how we say Daddy around these parts.) I looked over, and Daddy had his fingers crossed on both hands. I just said it to put some good luck out there, but it tickles me that without saying a word, he just crossed his fingers. And guess what? The table is great, and I bought it!
Anyway, back to Biscuit's clothes. I was forcing him into all these outfits from last year and from the hand-me-down bins, and with every piece of clothing, Biscuit had a single comment - "Too big, Mom." It didn't matter if it was pants, a shirt or even a hat, he would say, "Too big, Mom."
Making associations: Biscuit and I stopped to pick up a pizza, and as we got out of the car, Biscuit said, "There's my fends, Mom." I asked him where, and he pointed to two little boys at the front of the restaurant. They were far enough away that we couldn't see their faces. But they were the exact size of him and his classmates, and the two little boys both had haircuts like the two boys he was mistaking them for.
As we got closer and Biscuit saw their faces, he said, "That not my fends, Mom." I had to laugh. "No, baby, those aren't your friends. But they sure did look like them, didn't they?"
He also mistook our neighbor for my sister-in-law.
My neighbor was getting groceries out of the back of her van - a van that is the same color as my sister-in-law's. My neighbor also had her hair in a ponytail, the usual hairstyle for my sister-in-law.
"I want see Aunt KK, Mom," Biscuit said to me.
"That's not KK, baby," I said to Biscuit.
"Yes, Mom. Want see Aunt KK," and Biscuit started walking down the driveway.
Just then, my neighbor turned around and yelled to say hello. Biscuit started backing up and saying, "That not KK, Mom. That not KK." He made his way back to where I was and hid behind my legs. He's not normally shy, but I think he was just confused by the whole situation.
Buzz: Biscuit hasn't seen any of the usual full-length kid movies yet, but somehow or another, he knows who Buzz Lightyear is. Jeff put him in a pair of hand-me-down pajamas the other night, and as soon as Biscuit saw his reflection in the mirror, he squealed with excitement.
"It Buzz, Dad! Buzz a assanot," Biscuit said.
"Buzz is a what?" Jeff asked.
"Buzz is a flyin' assanot," Biscuit said. So not only does he know who Buzz is, he knows he's a flying astronaut. And who knows where he learned it.
Excitement: When Biscuit is excited, he doesn't just show it, he will tell you about it.
"I so excited, Mom," Biscuit will yell. "Giffin so excited!"
Sorry, Biscuit: Jeff and I stress good manners. Biscuit is required to say please and thank you, and lately, we've been working on getting him to say "I'm sorry." The good part of that is that if he steps on your foot or if he accidentally hits you when we're playing, he will now tell you he's sorry without us having to prompt him.
The bad part is that he's figured out that it goes both ways. If you do something to him that he feels isn't acceptable, he'll stand there staring at you saying, "Sowwy, Giffin. Sowwy, Giffin. Sowwy, Giffin." until you say it to him. Sometimes it's warranted, but sometimes it isn't. But even if it isn't, it's a whole lot easier to just say you're sorry to him than to try to explain to him why you shouldn't have to say it!
Compliments: And speaking of manners, one of the best compliments I get these days isn't about me, it's about Biscuit. I can't tell you how proud I am when people in restaurants or stores to say to me, "He is so polite." We work hard on manners and socializing, but as anyone who's had a toddler knows, you can teach all you want, but it's up to the kid to practice what's been preached to him. And Biscuit using what he's been taught by us and his teachers at day care makes me so, so proud.
Ah, that farmer: Biscuit has always heard songs at day care. They're big on music there. But now, he's starting to remember the words to songs enough that he'll sing them at home. My favorite song that he sings right now is "Old McDonald." The funny thing is that when he sings it, he doesn't say "Old McDonald," he says, "Ah that farmer."
"Ah that farmer had a cow. E-I-O. With a moo-moo here. A moo-moo here. A moo-moo here. A moo-moo here. E-I-O."
Also, the animals only make sounds "here." He doesn't say "there" or "everywhere," as in "moo-moo here, moo-moo there, here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo-moo."
He's so smart, and I'm still amazed every time he learns something new.
I'll probably regret writing this post tomorrow, but for today ... right now ... I'm remembering how things used to be.
I remember when I didn't have a specific time to leave work every day. I could stay as long as I wanted. I didn't have to watch the clock. I didn't have to rush to get the final pieces of my day taken care of, then figure out if I had time to stop at the bathroom before I left. When I didn't have to rush out the door and across the parking lot to my car, then fight traffic to get to day care to keep from having to pay late charges.
I remember getting to go wherever I wanted after work and being able to stay as long as I wanted. I could look around in a store without having to worry about whether a tantrum was going to cut my shopping trip short. I didn't have to have snacks or tiny little cars in my pocketbook. Oh, and if I didn't stop at the bathroom before I left work, I could go BY MYSELF to a public bathroom without worrying how I could keep little hands from touching everything in sight.
I didn't have to have dinner ready by 7 p.m. every night. I could eat dinner whenever I wanted to eat it. And after dinner, I could do whatever I wanted. Read a book. Look at a magazine. Watch TV.
Then I could go to bed far too late, then get up far too late. But it was okay because I didn't have to get anybody ready except for me.
I wouldn't trade being a Mama for anything in the world. But sometimes, I like to remember when things were simple.
