Random stuff

Some random things about Biscuit:


No hugs for Mama: Jeff and I can't hug if Biscuit is anywhere around. When he sees us hugging, he runs up and says, "I need to hug, too. I need to hug, too." We have to scoop him up and squeeze him in between us. Although I love hugs with just Jeff, I can't say our family hugs are a bad thing.


Costumes: Biscuit doesn't understand that not all holidays require costumes. He was so excited about being a firefighter for Halloween, he announced tonight that he wanted to be a firefighter for Thanksgiving and Christmas, too. 


Wittle bites: Biscuit tries to eat like a polar bear. He chews twice (if that) and swallows. Every once in a while, he makes that gagging face that will scare you to death because you think he's choking. So we've been working with him, talking about the size of bites and how you have to chew a lot before you swallow your food. 

So on a recent morning, Biscuit came up to me and made this declaration: 

"Mom, Dad teached me that if you take BIG BITES, you choke. But if you take wittle bites, you won't choke. BIG BITES, you CHOOOOOOKE! But wittle bites, you don't choke." 

I wish I could've gotten a video of him saying it because every time he said "big bites," he stood up really tall and said it in a loud voice. And every time he said "wittle bites," he bent over a little and whispered. 


Full belly: Biscuit is just starting to understand that his food goes into his mouth but ends up in his belly. After breakfast one morning this week, he walked up to me and pulled up his shirt. 

"I'm full, Mom. My belly is full," he said. Then he poked his belly button. "This hole is full, Mom. I'm all done because this hole is full." 


Nekkid boy: Jeff and I swap off bath duties for Biscuit. Bathtime is usually pretty fun ... unless Biscuit is acting like the stereotypical toddler, of course. 

We start with a few questions: bubbles or no bubbles, quick bath or long bath, train towel or dinosaur towel. 

Then our little creature of habit has a few demands of his own. He must turn on the water. He must climb into the tub instead of having us lift him in the tub. When the bath is done, he must count to 10 before he pulls the plug (sometimes he has us count). And he must lie on his belly and watch the water swirl down the drain. After we dry him off, he takes off running through our bedroom, down the hall, through the living room, through the dining room, through the kitchen and back into our bedroom. 

If I'm sitting in the living room when he runs through, Biscuit will stop beside me and stand there buck naked. I pretend for about 10 seconds that I don't notice anything. Then I'll gasp and say, "Oh my goodness! You don't have any clothes on! You better go get your clothes on before I get you!" Then the chase ensues. 

Biscuit lets out an ear-numbing squeal and takes off running. He gets so tickled when we chase him, and I swear, I think he runs in mid-air for the first three or four steps. 

Once he's back in the bedroom, we work toward getting him into his pajamas. You'd think getting pajamas on would be an easy task, but there's tickling and pretending that we don't know how his pajamas go on. There are lots of kisses and razzies blown on his belly. There's toe counting and enough giggling to erase any trace of a bad day. 

And I bet you thought bathtime was all about getting that boy clean.