Biscuit loves cars. His favorites are race cars. Anything with numbers and stripes and logos makes his favorite vehicles list.
So when Jeff let him watch part of Steve McQueen's movie "Le Mans" the other day, he was hooked. The whole movie is mostly race car drivers driving race cars, and there's very little dialog. What could make our race car-loving boy any happier?!?
After he finished dinner tonight, he walked up to Jeff and said, "We go upstairs to watch race car movie, Dad?" Needless to say, Jeff was a wee bit excited.
"Are you and Dad going to watch 'Le Mans', Biscuit?" I asked him.
"Yeah. We're going to watch 'The Mans.'" he said.
I can't say I hated my boys being upstairs in the movie room. I played on my laptop, flipped though a magazine and checked out the sales fliers from Sunday's paper. I like it when they have boy time because that means girl time for me.Tonight, the boy time didn't get finished. Biscuit tried, but he didn't quite make it 'til the end of the movie. He fell asleep on a Dodge race car pillow (with a dogs playing poker pillow above his head). Maybe he'll have sweet dreams of flying down a highway in his favorite speedster.
When I was pregnant with Biscuit, Jeff and I used to talk and wish about what we hoped Biscuit would get from each of us.
There were physical things -- like I wanted him to have my blue eyes and Jeff's height. And there were brain-related things -- I hope he's as smart as Jeff with my sense of making do with what you have. And there were emotional things -- I wished for Jeff's patience and my outgoing-ness.
He got my blue eyes, but he's still in the 5th percentile of height and weight for his age (that means 95% of kids his age are taller and weigh more than he does). He's definitely showing signs of intelligence. He's sorely lacking patience - although I think all 2-year-olds lack that. But he definitely got my outgoing-ness. He usually talks to anybody anywhere or should I say everybody everywhere.
There are still some things that are undecided. Lately, he's been holding his crayons in his left hand more than his right. I'm a lefty. As for Biscuit's size, Jeff said he didn't get tall until his junior year of high school, so there's plenty of time for growth spurts.
As we watch Biscuit grow and learn, we still play the "I hope he gets ..." game. Like tonight.
We stopped by the grocery store to get milk, bananas and a couple of other things. As we walked past the meat department, they had some N.Y. strip steaks on a really good sale.
I said, "Jeff, if you could have anything you wanted for dinner tonight, what would it be?" I knew the answer before I asked the question.
My non-excitable Jeff got this look on his face of a little kid who just got a new toy. "Steak and potatoes!" he said with a big smile. And I thought to myself, I want Biscuit to have that look on his face countless times in his life.
We got home and brought the groceries in, and I started cooking dinner. I eat my steaks medium-well, but Jeff ... he likes his steaks dang-near mooing when they hit the plate. So I looked up steaks in one of my go-to cookbooks to find out how to cook his just how he likes it. I'm used to grilling steaks, but tonight, I was using a grill pan on my stove. That pan has ridges just like the outside grill does.
Let me side step right here and say that I would much prefer to cook steaks on the gas grill outside (if for no other reason than the massive amount of smoke that was in my kitchen tonight), but our grill is broken. My parents are giving me money to buy one for my birthday, but that's not for another few weeks. So that's where my handy-dandy grill pan comes in.
So to get the full steakhouse feel, I rotated Jeff's steak a quarter turn halfway through cooking on each side so it had the nice crisscross marks on each side. When his was done (i.e. still bloody!), I called him into the kitchen and asked him to cut into it to make sure I cooked it correctly.
His eyes lit up when he saw it. "COOL! How'd you get the marks on it like that?" he asked.
"What?" I asked, not because I didn't hear his question, but because getting those marks is an easy thing that anybody could do.
But then I realized that it wasn't about the actual process of how I had done it. It was more about him being impressed that I went to the trouble to take a nice cut of steak and turn it into an impressive meal just because he asked for it.
I don't know a word that describes that, but whatever you call it, THAT is something I want Biscuit to have -- amazement and wonder with a little touch of innocence and awe, combined with the ability to make someone else feel really, really good.
When I took Biscuit out to play in his pool this morning, the water was still pretty cold. Plus, I set it up in the shade, so there was no sun to heat it up. He never did get completely wet. I got a couple of pictures of him where you can tell he was surprised by the cold water splashing on him.
Also, on the video, it sounds like we have an 8-lane super-highway behind our house. It's just a small two-lane road, but for some reason, it was really busy while we were out this morning, and you can hear it on the video.
Then, to add to that, the people across the street from us were having their house pressure washed, and Biscuit didn't like it. He kept saying that the guy doing the work better not come in our house. At one point, he said, "Don't. Come. In. Our. House. Or I'll huff and puff and blow your house DOWN!"
Not sure what that was about, but here are a couple of videos I took of pool time.
I am sad to announce that Biscuit is starting to act like ... a BOY! He's getting rougher and rougher on his toys. All his cars crash into each other all the time. Anything he can hold, he will throw. And he and his day care classmates are making all these awful nonsense noises. He's so articulate with his words, but it's a copycat thing that's making me nuts.
Witness the craziness ...
Biscuit loves Fudgesicles, but he can't seem to bite them. I guess his teeth are sensitive to the cold or something. A friend of mine even bought some of the wee tiny kid Popsicles, but he struggled with those, too.
He always gets really excited when I have a Fudgesicle. I'll hold it out for him to take a bite, but he licks it, then very slowly puts his mouth on the end of it, then makes a terrible face and jerk his head away. The few times he's bitten into one, he really likes it once it's in his mouth.
Since the biting is the problem, I bit off a little piece, took it out of my mouth and put it into his mouth. He latched on to that idea right away. He got to eat the Fudgesicle, but he didn't have to bite it. Now, he'll say, "Mom, let's get a Popsicle and eat it together."
I guess some people would cringe and say it's gross, but the grossest part to me is how sticky my hand gets from taking it from my mouth to his. I guess now I know how Mama birds feel when they're feeding their babies.
I woke up at 7:30 this morning. I really don't think that's fair. It's Saturday, plus both my boys were still snoozing away.
I spent my early morning blowing air until I was dang-near hyperventilating. I bought Biscuit a kiddie pool last year on a really good markdown at the end of the season. So this morning, I had the pleasure of blowing it up.
Jeff had to go get his hair cut, I got it set the pool up in the yard and filled it with water. I got Biscuit all dressed in his swimmie diaper and bathing suit (which he called his "baby suit") and took him out to the pool. He played out there for about an hour and a half. then we came in for lunch, then it was naptime -- for me and him both! And now, Biscuit says it's time to go back out for more pool fun.
He just said, "Mom, let's go back to the pool. My feet need sticking in the water."
I could get used to a schedule that was play, eat, nap, then play some more!
I love the recent trend of Biscuit trailing off into stream of consciousness conversations with himself and his toys. Some days, he starts with one sentence, then that reminds him of something else, and then we're off.
Here's what Biscuit had to say on our way home this evening (it's probably not word-for-word because I don't think I could remember all that he said).
"There's our red car, Mom. We ride in a red car. That car is white, Mom. Their car is white. Our car no white, Mom. Our car is red. It's red, Mom. Red is your favorite, Mom. Is red your favorite, Mom? Red is your favorite."
"That's a school bus, Mom. Do you see the school bus? The school bus has sunshine on the side. That sunshine is orange, Mom. It's one orange and two orange. See the orange, Mom? Sunshine is orange. We don't ride school bus, Mom. We ride in red car. This our red car, Mom. Red is your favorite, Mom?"
"We go home now, Mom? We go home and see Dad? No. Dad at work. Dad working, Mom. We see Dad later. See the policeman? See the policeman, Mom? No. He not policeman. He cutting the grass. He cut the grass, Mom. He use lawnmower to cut the grass. He not policeman. Policeman ride in peace car. Fireman not ride in peace car, Mom. Fireman ride on fire truck. Firetruck is red like our car. Our car is red, Mom."
"We stop at red light, Mom? We at red light? Red means stop. Green means go. LIGHT IS GREEN, MOM! GO! GO! GO!!!! A rhombus is like a diamond, Mom, but I like triangles. Triangles are my favorite. I see circles and squares and ovals. I like triangles. A rhombus is like a diamond, but I like triangles. You like triangles, Mom? Your name Kim. Kim starts with K. My name is Giffin. Giffin starts with R. R-r-r-r-Giffin."
No lie. He had this entire conversation without me saying a single word. Meanwhile, I'm sitting there listening, thinking things like: How does he remember my favorite color is red? Did I tell him Jeff is working or did he just assume that on his own? How is he getting a policeman and a gardener confused? How the heck does he know what a rhombus is?!? Griffin does not start with an R. Since he doesn't even pronounce the R in his his name, why would he think his name starts with an R?
Biscuit is so smart, and he just keeps learning and learning and learning. One of the favorite things about parenting for me is watching that child learn. Seeing something click in his little brain is simply amazing.
When I got to day care this evening to pick up Biscuit, his teacher handed him a sticky note and said, "Can you tell your Mom what this note says?"
The note said that Biscuit needs more diapers. But Biscuit looked at the sticky note and said, "Um, the note say, 'I want PIZZA!'"
Guess what Biscuit had for dinner tonight?
We have a small raised garden in our backyard. This year, we planted beans, cucumbers, squash, zucchini, bell peppers, heirloom tomatoes and roma tomatoes. Everything is coming right along, and we even got our first roma tomato over the past weekend.
I've been trying to include
Biscuit in the whole process. I don't think he gets it yet, but I love the idea of feeding him something that I grew myself.
And as with most boys, the dirt and water needed for a garden just calls to him. I was using the hose to water the garden yesterday evening, and Biscuit ran back to the deck, grabbed the watering can and dragged it over to the garden. "I want to help, Mom," he said.
I put some water in the watering can, and Biscuit turned it up onto one little corner of the garden. He wanted more, so I gave him more water, and he watered the same exact spot. And then he wanted more.
I wasn't putting much water in the can, so he didn't drown any plants, but he put enough water on that one spot that I skipped it entirely with the water hose.
I hope he'll stay interested in the garden. And maybe he'll even eat some of the stuff we harvest.
Here are a few fun things Biscuit has been saying lately:
Things to do today: On the way to day care a couple of weeks ago, Biscuit said, “I going to day care to run and play and skip and hop and play with my fends and make music.” I told his teacher what he said, and she paused for a second, smiled and said, “Yep. That about covers our days here.”Bu-draf: How Biscuit says giraffe.Favorite food: "What's your favorite something to eat?" Biscuit asked me this evening. My usual answer is pasta, but I thought I'd shake things up a little bit."My favorite something to eat is country ham," I said to Biscuit.
Once you pick a favorite, you don't usually get to change it, even if it's an answer you just grabbed out of thin air in the pressure of the moment.
"No, Mom," Biscuit said. "Your favorite something to eat not crunchy ham. You like pasta."
I didn't know whether to be impressed that he remembered my pasta answer (it's been a while since he's asked me about my favorite something to eat) or be tickled by his interpretation of what he thought I said.Pitching: Jeff took Biscuit to a baseball game last Thursday night. When I take Biscuit out and about, I always cover all my bases. I have all the usual stuff like diapers, wipes and changing pads. But I also have snacks, sippy cups, a change of clothes, sometimes even a book or some cars. Jeff got ready to leave the house that night with nothing.
"Um, what happens if he gets a dirty diaper at the game?" I asked Jeff.
"Oh. I guess I need to take a diaper?" he asked. Now that Biscuit is older, we don't have to carry a diaper bag, but I have several of those bag-type backpacks with strings for handles. So I shoved a few essentials and snacks in there and handed it off to Jeff.
My boys had a good time at the game, and Biscuit couldn't wait to get home and tell me everything he saw. "Mom, we saw baseball mans. And dogs. And peoples."
Jeff said to Biscuit, "Hey boy, how do you pitch to Murphy?"
Biscuit replied, "Down and away and up and in."
Introducing Biscuit, the second baseball freak in my house.
That's not my spot: When we got to day care today, a little girl was sitting in Biscuit's spot on the circle time rug. The kids don't have assigned spots, but apparently, every kid in the class knows that particular spot is Biscuit's. So when he saw the girl on his spot, he just stood there looking back and forth between me and the little girl. This isn't the first time I've witnessed this, and I thought maybe I should break this little habit, so I pointed out to him that there's a red spot on the other side of the rug. I told him it was the same spot just on a different side of the rug.
His reponse? "No, Mom. That spot not perfect for me." The little girl moved and gave Biscuit the spot. I just rolled my eyes and left for work.
Everything is Mama and Dad and Baby: The big fire truck is Dad. The medium firetruck is Mama. The little fire truck is Baby. His ride-on horse is Dad. One of his toy horses is Mama. And the little horse is Baby. You get where this is going? It's actually pretty cool that Biscuit is finding our family in the things around him. But bigger than that, I love seeing his little brain make those kinds of connections. I think they call it applied learning. But whatever it's called, it's a lot of fun to watch it happen.Introductions: Biscuit just walked up to me as I was typing this post and said, "Good afternoon, Mama. It's nice to meet you." Then he reached his hand out to shake mine. I shook his hand and said, "It's nice to meet you, too."
Then he said, "Well, okay. It was nice to meet you. Bye." And he went back to playing with his cars.
A few more recent tidbits:
My ball game: Biscuit loves going to baseball games. I've mentioned before that we have minor league team here in town, so we get to take him to games every couple of weeks during baseball season.
We had planned to go to a game last weekend, but we decided at the last minute not to go. We didn't know it at the time, but Biscuit heard Jeff and me talking about it and had been excited about going to the game. When I explained to Biscuit why we weren't going, he really didn't care. All he knew was that we weren't going.
So he found a way to pay us back. As we left the house each morning last week to go to day care, Biscuit asked over and over and over and over again, "We go to ballgame today, Mom? We see baseball players?"
And I'd have to say, "Not today. We have to go to day care today, but we'll see a game again soon, okay?"
"O-o-o-o-okay," he'd say.
We took him to a ballgame this past Sunday. As you walk into the stadium, you walk up some stairs to the concourse, then you can look down onto the field. We walked up the stairs, and as we got to the top, Biscuit spread his arms out and yelled, "MY BALL GAME! WE AT MY BALL GAME!" What more could I expect of a kid that's half Jeff?!?
All bets on red: Biscuit is a creature of habit. And I know exactly where he got that from. That's me up and down. Routines are king for me, and I think he's following suit.
Jeff dropped Biscuit off at day care this morning, just in time for circle time. There's a big rug with colored spots on it. Each kid sits on a circle, and they sing songs and practice their Spanish, counting and other lessons. As Biscuit walked toward the carpet, he stopped and looked back and forth between his classmates and Jeff.
Finally, this little girl turned around and saw Biscuit. She looked down at the circle she was sitting on. Then she slid over to the next circle. Jeff looked at Biscuit's teacher to see what was going on.
"He has to have a red circle," his teacher said. "Everybody knows red is his color."
This little girl realized she was sitting on a red circle, so she moved over to a circle of another color so Biscuit could have a red spot. I don't know whether to be impressed that they know him so well or be horrified that they let him get away with it!
I'm so excited: Sometimes Biscuit will look at me (or sometimes Jeff), and he'll say, "I so excited, Mom." When I ask him why he's excited, he'll say, "I so excited about you, Mom. I love you." You can bet that'll turn a bad day around!
He's starting to get it: Biscuit and I were shopping the other day - diapers, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, cereal ... basically all the things I hate spending money on. He decided that he didn't want to ride in the buggy. So I told him that I'd let him walk, but only if he stayed right beside the buggy. He did great until we made our way around to the cosmetics area.
There were some car-shaped pinatas on the end of one of the aisles that Biscuit was very interested in, but I needed to get my shopping done.
Biscuit stomped his little feet, started crying and said, "Not THIS row, Mom. I want THAT row."
I picked him up and just stared at him for a minute until he calmed down. Then I asked him, "Biscuit, why are you crying?"
"Um, because I didn't get my way," he whined.
"Well, sometimes you don't get your way," I told him. "But pitching a fit is only going to make it worse. Why are you upset?"
"I want to see cars," he said. So I told him that if he would stay beside the buggy until I was done with my shopping, we'd go see the cars on the end of the aisle. He held up his end of the bargain. He was really good until I finished checking off my list, then we went to see the car pinatas, and all was right with the world.
When I was holding Biscuit and we were having our conversation, a woman about my age was walking down the row beside us. When I asked Biscuit why he was upset, and he said because he didn't get his way, she snorted to keep from laughing. As she rounded the end of the aisle, she just cracked up. That tells me that she's been there!
Here are a few recent tidbits:
Stay-cation: With money being tight for everybody, I think a lot of people are taking days off and just staying home. That's what Jeff and I did. We usually take our anniversary week off to go on a trip. This year, we took the week off and stayed put. We spent one afternoon going out for a nice lunch and catching a movie. But mostly, we just did stuff around the house.
We felt a little bit guilty about this, but we still sent Biscuit to day care every day. We thought about keeping him home with us, but there's no way we could've done the stuff around the house if he had been here. We needed to paint the kitchen, clean out a couple of closets, do some yard work and other such chores. Could you imagine if Biscuit was home when we were attempting to do any of those things?!?
Nice painting: It took me almost 8 years, but I finally got my kitchen painted. It was white above the chair rail with a stenciled border. Below the chair rail was BRIGHT golden yellow. Now, it's Haze on top and Cup of Cocoa on the bottom. In layman's terms, that would be tan on top and darker tan on the bottom!
When Biscuit walked into the kitchen after my first day of painting, he looked around trying to figure out what was going on. First of all, the kitchen was a disaster area. The table was shoved against the counter. My cookbook bookcase was in the dining room, and all my cookbooks were stacked on the table. Oh yeah, and the walls were a different color than when he'd left that morning.
"What you doing, Mom?" he asked.
"I'm painting the kitchen. The walls were yellow and white, but I made them tan," I explained to him.
"No, Mom. Walls not tan. Walls brown. Walls cafe," he said. Cafe is brown in Spanish. I thanked Biscuit for the compliment and decided that I wasn't up to argue about colors with a 2-year-old.
And do you know that at least every couple of days, Biscuit will walk into the kitchen, look around and say, "Nice painting, Mom. You did nice painting."
No costumes: Biscuit is completely enamored with emergency vehicles and personnel. He loves police cars and police mans, fire trucks and fire mans and amublances and, you guessed it, ambulance mans. So I thought it might be fun to get him some emergency worker hats or costumes to play with.
I went to the store, and there was a whole aisle of princess costumes, nurse outfits, ballerina tutus and more. How many costumes do you think they had for little boys? None! I found some online, but that's no fun. I wanted to let him pick out what he wanted in person, not on a computer screen. We do have a really good toy store here in town that has non-battery-operated toys. It's a little pricey, though, so I'll have to do a recon mission to check it out before I take the boy in there and let him get all excited.
Jeff and I love diners, and luckily for us, our town isn't lacking in them. We found a new one Wednesday evening and liked it so much that we went back tonight.
We had been out and about and wanted something quick and cheap, so I asked Jeff if the diner was good with him. He said yes, then I asked Biscuit.
Our conversation went like this:
Me: "Biscuit?"
Biscuit: "HUNH?"
Jeff: "Say 'ma'am', Biscuit."
Biscuit: "Ma'am."
Me: "Biscuit?"
Biscuit: "HUNH?"
Jeff: "Biscuit, say 'ma'am' when Mama calls you."
Me: "Biscuit?"
Biscuit: "Hunh, yes ma'am?"
Jeff: "Good job, Biscuit."
Me: "Biscuit, would you like pancakes for dinner?"
Biscuit: "YEAH. PANCAKES! PANCAKES!!!"
I went to a cooking class with a friend this morning, and Jeff and I decided we'd run some errands once I got home. When I called Jeff to tell him I was on the way home, he said he and Biscuit were ready to go, but Biscuit hadn't had a nap. I figured he'd sleep while we were driving to our first errand destination.
I was halfway right. Biscuit did fall asleep in the car, but he had only been asleep about 10 minutes when we got to the first store. I got his stroller from the back of the car and set him in it. I told him he could go back to sleep. He looked around, then said, "No, Mom. I awake. I look around."
He seemed to be in a fine mood ... until we were at our table at the diner.
I ordered silver-dollar pancakes and bacon for Biscuit. I asked them to make it crispy because I worry about Biscuit trying to eat chewy bacon. I've heard of kids getting choked on it.
Biscuit started chowing down on his pancakes, then he asked if he could eat the bacon. I said yes and told him to chew, chew, chew before he swallowed. He took two bites and didn't want anymore.
He handed the rest of the bacon to me. "Are you done with this?" I asked.
"Yes, Mom. I done. I done with bacon," he said.
It looked really good, and I wanted to taste it. So I did. And apparently that was a bad, bad thing.
"NO, MOM! That MY bacon. You give it back, Mom. You take bacon out of your mouth. You give it back, Mom." Biscuit whined.
"You said you were done with it, so I ate it. I can't give it back." I said. And the wailing commenced.
Wednesday night when we were at this diner, the manager came over about halfway through our meal and complimented us and Biscuit on his manners. "He's so independent and well-behaved," the manager said. "You can bring him back ANYtime." And that made us feel really good.
I bet he wouldn't have said that tonight.
I shouldn't complain. Biscuit and I were coming out of the grocery store the other day, and Biscuit was just so happy. He was laughing and singing and talking. Then we heard a noise across the parking lot that sounded like a wounded animal. It was a little boy probably about 3 years old who was pitching the worst fit imaginable. And his mama just kept saying, "I mean it. I MEAN it. STOP."
Biscuit said, "Why he crying, Mom?"
"I'm not sure, Biscuit. He must be pretty sad," I said.
"Yeah, he's sad. I not sad, Mom. I happy. I happy, Mom," Biscuit said.
So the moral of the story is that with a toddler, you never know what you'll get. Sometimes they're perfectly behaved. Sometimes they're whiny and can't be satisfied. Sometimes they're wild as animals. And sometimes they're just happy. We like that one best.
When I was in kindergarten, we learned the letters of the alphabet using The Letter People.
There was Miss A-a-a-choooo, Mr. T-t-t-tall teeth and Mr. S-s-s-super socks (which I just noticed is missing from the picture below). These Letter People were inflatables that were about as tall as we were at the time. And they made learning our letters a lot of fun.
I went online to see if I could get some Letter People for Biscuit, but they were horribly expensive. You can't just buy the people, you have to get a whole kit of Letter People puppets, DVDs, books and workbooks. No thanks.
But I've got a while before I need to worry about teaching the boy letters.
WRONG!
Biscuit was sitting on our bed with Jeff and me, watching TV. There was a show on PBS that caught his eye, so we stopped there. It was a show for early readers, and as part of their story, they flashed letters on the screen.
"What is this letter?" the little boy asked as an "R" flashed on the screen. Then he paused, giving the kids at home a chance to answer.
"R!" Biscuit yelled. "It make r-r-r-r sound."
WHAT?!?!?
"What is this letter?" the little boy asked as a "D" flashed on the screen.
"D!" Biscuit yelled. "It make d-d-d-d sound."
Jeff and I had no idea. We are just constantly amazed at the stuff that child knows.
I'm not sure what's gotten into Biscuit and me lately, but sometimes we just look at each other and crack up. I don't mean that we find something humorous. I mean we laugh until we're crying and having trouble breathing.
Two nights ago, Biscuit and I were lying on my bed. I was watching the last few minutes of a TV show, and Biscuit was climbing all over me. I twisted and dumped him off my back onto the bed, and then I looked at him, and we cracked up. Neither of us had said anything. We just looked at each other and lost it.
Sometimes I say that I'm glad nobody has a hidden video camera in our house or they'd think we were nuts. But two nights ago, I would've loved to have those moments recorded. It was pure joy.
I did feel kinda bad, though, because Jeff walked into the room and asked us what was so funny. Biscuit and I looked at Jeff, then looked at each other and lost it again. We weren't trying to exclude Jeff, but I honestly have no idea why we were laughing.
It happened again tonight. I was holding Biscuit across my lap, getting him to say hard words. (What can I say? I am terribly amused by my kid butchering complicated words.)
"Say 'antelope,'" I said.
"Antewope," Biscuit said.
"Say 'carburetor,'" I said.
I can't begin to spell his pronunciation, but that set us off. We laughed and laughed and laughed.
And before we could get settled down, Biscuit looked at me and said, "N-n-n-mickanus."
First of all, I wrote about his pronunciation of his friend Nicholas' name in March, and Biscuit is bringing it up again two months later?!? I can't believe he remembered us practicing Nicholas' name that long ago.
Secondly, he said "mickanus" knowing it would make me laugh. The fact that he's starting to hone his sense of humor makes me so happy. I love to laugh, and so does most everybody in my family and Jeff's family.
And I hope Biscuit realizes that I'll be the first one laughing with him, any time, anywhere.
Nobody at our house could get going this morning. We were all supposed to be getting ready for the day, but things just weren't moving very fast.
As I was sitting on the edge of the bed, I looked over at Jeff. He was sitting in the rocking chair holding one of his shoes. He wasn't trying to put it on. He was just holding it, looking kinda dazed.
Biscuit has had bad dreams this week, and that means that Jeff and I have been awakened at least a couple of times each night for this entire week. It's made for a long and tiring week.
I was supposed to be getting in the shower this morning, but I walked back into the bedroom where Jeff and Biscuit were, then I flopped across the bed.
"I can't seem to find my gumption," I said.
About 10 seconds went by, then Biscuit reached his hand into his imaginary pocket, pulled it out again and said, "I found it, Mom! I found it!"
"What did you find?" I asked.
"Your gun-shun," he said. "Here it is." And he reached over and put his hand on mine like he was handing me something ... apparently, my gumption.
Oh, that it was that simple, Biscuit baby.
Biscuit has a motorcycle with a helmeted man on the back of it. The motorcycle driver's name? It's Motorcycle Man, of course.
He also has a stuffed puppy that he sleeps with every night. The puppy's name? Puppy.
Are you seeing a pattern here?
But recently, I told him to go get his little horse if he wanted to take it with us.
"That not Horse, Mom. That Pinto," he said.
It took me a few guesses to figure out what he was saying ... pickles? pencils? Ohhhh, Pinto.
"Why do you call him Pinto?" I asked.
"Cause he's fast. And he's wild. And he's Pinto," Biscuit said.
That sounded good enough to me.
Tonight, my family was dubbed the Goose Family. I was Mama Goose, Jeff was Dad Goose and Biscuit was Baby Goose. I'm guessing those were our names because yesterday when Biscuit touched my nose for no reason at all, I said, "HONK!" really loudly and scared the daylights out of him.
"You sound like a goose, Mom," he said laughing.
As a sidenote, I really miss that he doesn't say "geesen" anymore. It was so cute. Instead of "goose" and "geese," he would say "geesen" and "geesens."
Biscuit has been really verbal for a long time now, but as his letter pronunciation improves, it actually makes me a little sad. Saying his words better makes him sound too grown up.
But before Biscuit went to bed tonight, he reminded me that he's still my baby. He crawled up into my lap, squeezed me around the neck and said, "I wuv you Mama Goose."
If this were a mushy-gushy blog, this is the part where I would tell you how my heart poured out of me and onto the floor.
Most of the time, Jeff and I have dinner with our sweet Biscuit baby. But sometimes, like tonight, we have dinner with a 2-year-old. An obstinate, argumentative, whiny 2-year-old.
"Biscuit, eat your chicken nuggets," I said.
"Noooooo. That not chicken nuggets," Biscuit said. Technically, he was right. It was chunks of stir-fried chicken. But they were the same size as the chicken nuggets I make. The meat was the same consistency. I even sprinkled a little bit of panko bread crumbs on the chunks to make them look a little more like the usual chicken nuggets.
"That bite too big. That bite too big. That bite too big, Mom," he said, like if he repeated it several times, it would make me agree with him and tell him he didn't have to eat any of it.
"That one too hard, Mom. It too hard. That not nugget. It too hard." Honestly, it was excuse after excuse after excuse.
He did eat a bowl of pinto beans. He still seems to love most kinds of beans, well, as long as they're brown. No green peas, no lima beans, no navy beans. They don't look like what he considers beans to be. He wants pintos, crowder peas, black beans, baked beans or black-eyed peas. And that's good. I'll shove veggies in him any way I can.
Since Biscuit wasn't eating his chicken, Jeff reached over with his fork and stabbed a piece. When he got it about an inch from his mouth, Biscuit noticed. "NOOOOOOOOOOOO, Dad! That MY chicken."
"You're not eating it, so I can have it," Jeff said.
"I eat it. I eat it," Biscuit said. So Jeff stuck the forkful of chicken in front of Biscuit's mouth. Biscuit proceeded to take the chicken off the fork and put it on his plate. "I put it on my pate, Dad."
"If you don't eat it, I'm going to," Jeff said. "There's no reason to waste it."
That's when Biscuit took a couple of measly little bites of chicken. "Mmmm. That good," he said. But of course, he wouldn't take another bite after that.
We've also been struggling with eating utensils. When he's not using them to eat, he waves them around, rubs them through his hair, bangs them on the table, all the things we don't want him doing with eating utensils. Now, it's like those lessons have leaked out of his little head. I bet it was 14 times that I said, "If you're not using your fork and spoon to eat, put them in your plate or on the table." He would set them on the table, then not two seconds later, they'd be waving through the air again. I came really close to saying something akin to, "If you don't put that fork down, you're going to put your eye out!"
Yep. Dining with a 2-year-old is a whole different experience than eating with my sweet Biscuit baby.
Biscuit's day care had a Dance Through the Decades party Friday night. We were supposed to dress up to represent one of the decades, and they had set up food in one room, a Wii system with dance games in another room and a dance floor in another room, complete with bright-colored disco balls.
I had completely forgotten about the dance until I picked up Biscuit at about 6 p.m. Friday. One of the teachers asked if we were coming, and I told her I had forgotten about it, but we'd try to get back.
After Biscuit and I left day care, I did what I always do in these types of situations -- I called my Mama. I told her about the party and asked if she knew some easy costumes we could do. She suggested we do the 1950s, and that sounded like the easiest thing to me.
Jeff and Biscuit wore jeans with the cuffs turned up and white T-shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Jeff said he needed a pack of cigarettes to roll up in his sleeve. I told him that we were not going to promote smoking at day care, so we improvised by rolling his cellphone up in his sleeve. Jeff wore saddle oxford shoes, and Biscuit wore his Converse All-Stars with the flames on the side, aka Fire Shoes.
When we got to the day care center, we checked out the teachers' outfits. The 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s were represented. The 60s teacher had on a mod-looking shift dress with go-go boots. The 70s teacher had on a tie-dyed shirt with a peace symbol necklace and a huge afro. She was really funny as she walked around patting her fake hair. A couple of the teachers dressed up in 80s clothes -- one had the Valley girl look with layered polo shirts, sparkly fingernails and a side ponytail and a male teacher had on a satiny gold shirt that looked like something a "Solid Gold" dancer would have worn.
We walked into the dancing room, and this woman yelled out, "See? I TOLD you they'd dress up! They ALWAYS dress up! The only way I could get my husband to dress up is to tell him that you guys would be here."
I thought that was a funny thing to say for a couple of reasons:
1. I don't know this woman at all. We had one conversation at Halloween where she did all the talking. She said Biscuit is a sweet little boy. She said he seems to be growing up too fast. She said she likes my car and would love to know more about it. And then before I could respond to any of her comments, she said, "Ooo. They've got cake and ice cream" and ran away from me.
2. "They ALWAYS dress up!" the woman said, but the Halloween party was the first after-hours day care event Jeff and I had been to. We did dress up, but that was the first and only time.
I did like that we were the reason they dressed up. I think the other parents should dress up, too. It doesn't take a whole lot of effort, and the kids seem to really enjoy it.
Anyway, here are a few pictures of us in the 50s:
A post from The Daddy Man:
I love 60s and 70s TV cop shows. I watch them as much for the cars on the streets as I do the stories, which tend to be hokie and corny by today's standards.
Kimmy has bought me several seasons of "Barney Miller," "SWAT" and my favorite, "Adam-12."
For the uninitiated, "Adam-12" was a spin-off of "Dragnet." It follows two L.A. cops in their patrol car (which started out as a 1967 Plymouth Belvedere), as they rode through their district, Adam-12.
Biscuit is really into police cars, fire trucks, ambulances, basically any rescue-type vehicle with a siren. So he and I watch "Adam-12" episodes together pretty frequently.
Over the past couple of days, I've had to laugh at two things he's picked up from the show.
The first happened when we were outside playing in the backyard. Biscuit was about to mount a ride-on toy motorcycle, but before he got on it, he put one hand on the handlebars and one hand on the seat. Then he jumped up and down a couple of times, making revving noises with his mouth.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"I crank up motorcycle, Dad," he said. I thought for a minute, then realized that in a recent episode of "Adam-12," we had seen a guy kick-starting his motorcycle. That stuck with Biscuit enough so he had to try it on his own motorcycle.
The other thing happened tonight at a dinner party we had with some friends.
Biscuit would hold his hand up to his mouth and say something, but none of us could figure it out. We kept asking him to repeat himself.
Then it hit me. Biscuit was holding his hand up to his mouth just like Officer Reed holds the police radio in "Adam-12." And what was it that Biscuit was saying? "One-Adam-12, Roger."
My boy has no idea how cool he is.
We were invited to dinner at a friend's house tonight -- Southern fare featuring shrimp and grits, corn on the cob and peach cobbler. We tried to share with Biscuit, but he wanted to stick with the individual-sized pizza that was made for him.
But after he watched us gnawing on our corn on the cob, Biscuit suddenly grew quite interested. Every time I took a bite, Biscuit would say, "It my turn, Mom," and he would grab the handles on either end of my corn.
Finally, the hostess and another one of our friends cut off a small piece of one cob, stuck handles in either end and let Biscuit handle it himself. He shows no interest at all in whole-kernel corn, but for some reason, that cob was speaking to him. And he did a pretty good job eating it, too.
Check him out:
The dish of shrimp and grits had pieces of bacon sprinkled on top, and Biscuit somehow slipped a piece of bacon off my plate. Here's what he had to say about it:
We had an extra member of our family this evening. A couple of our friends had a wedding to attend, so we kept their 1 1/2-year-old son. He's a very sweet baby, but he's never stayed with us before, so we had to win him over right from the get-go.
Like most boys I've met, I lured him away from his parents with trucks, trains, balls and something he could bang on. He never even noticed that his parents left. His dad said later that he felt like they were deceiving the little boy, but shoot, we still sneak out on Biscuit when we go on a date, and he's 2 1/2 years old. I don't see it as deception as much as distraction. Seeing us leave is always worse than Biscuit realizing later that we're not there. Mainly because by the time he figures it out, he's already having a good time with whoever is babysitting him.
We headed out into the backyard to play, and apparently, Biscuit decided the other little boy should be part of our family. The boys were playing with plastic baseballs and bats, and Biscuit said, "Throw that ball to our Mom."
"What did you say, Biscuit?" I asked.
"I say him to throw the ball to you, Mom. Throw ball to our Mom." Our mom. I like it.
Biscuit did have one moment of jealousy. I was talking to the other little boy, and Biscuit thought I was ignoring him. There was a bit of whining, so I grabbed Biscuit up and covered him with smooches. I had to remind him that although I was paying attention to this other little boy, I hadn't forgotten about him. It took all of about 2 minutes of attention, and he was fine after that.
We had some pizza for dinner, and then came bath time. I put the 1 1/2-year-old in the tub and before I could even start washing him, Biscuit came running in, started taking his clothes off and said, "I get in, too, Mom!" They had a good time splashing and playing in the water.
The little one went to sleep right after his bath, and I told Biscuit he had to be quiet so the baby could sleep. "Okay. Shhhhh," he said. Which is funny because Biscuit still touches his finger to the tip of his nose when he says "shhhhh."
I put the baby on my bed surrounded by pillows, and Biscuit asked if he could watch TV in our bedroom. "I be quiet, Mom," he said. So I turned on cartoons and got him covered up with a blanket. Every time the baby took a deep breath or moved, Biscuit just stared at him. It was funny to watch. I sat in a rocking chair in our bedroom and tried to read, but those boys had tired me out. I almost dozed off a couple of times.
When our little visitor's parents came back to pick him up, they walked into our bedroom to scoop him up. Jeff and the baby's dad were talking in their regular voices. Biscuit's protective side kicked in, and he said, "Shhhhh. The baby asleep." He scolded the baby's daddy about his own son. Of course, the dad thought it was cute and funny.
We had a fun night, but I'm played out and ready for bed.
I enjoy writing this blog. Mainly, I think it's because Biscuit is by far my favorite topic to talk about. But also because it helps family and friends keep track of what's going on with Biscuit, and Jeff and me, too.
One of my friends at work said it would be nice if I could have the blog entries in a book. At first, I just laughed and said, "Who do you think is going to read it?!?" But then, I thought it might be a nice keepsake for my Mama, Jeff's Mama and one day, Biscuit.
So I did it. I copied the first two years of blog entries into a file, uploaded it to an online publisher and had books printed. It's nothing fancy, but it includes all the blog posts and photos from 2009 and 2010.
I used a website called Lulu (http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/bringing-up-biscuit-part-1/15598376?productTrackingContext=search_results/search_shelf/center/2) to publish the book, and what's funny to me is that it is now available for anyone to buy a copy. Not that anyone will, mind you, but it just seems odd that a book about my child's life so far is published.
Here's the cover:
Jeff keeps fussing at me because I go back and forth between feeling proud and feeling embarrassed at my pride in it.
It's 150 pages, though, and I guess proud or not, just writing that much is pretty good. We gave copies to our Mamas for Mother's Day, and they were both excited about it. And the last page says, "To be continued ..." so I guess that means I have to keep writing.
Of course, with what my Biscuit baby brings to my life every single day, there is never a shortage of things to write about!
Jeff, Biscuit and I took a quick trip to Georgia for my family reunion last weekend. We drove 6 1/2 hours down on Saturday, had the reunion on Sunday, then drove 6 1/2 hours back home on Monday. It was a quick trip, but I'm glad we went.
This year was the 46th year of that reunion. It started with my Granny (my Mama's Mama) and her siblings. There were 12 siblings -- 6 girls and 6 boys. So by the time they had children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and now, even some great-great-grandchildren, the reunion turned into quite the event. Back in its hey-day, there would be about 200 people there. It was pretty cool to look around and realize that either through blood or marriage, I was kin to everybody there.
Now, there's only one of the original 12 siblings left. My Granny died in 2009 leaving her younger sister as the last one. Only about 50 or so people were at the reunion this year. The reunion is always the same weekend every year, and it's always at the same state park. So it's frustrating to me that there are a bunch of people who live within a couple of hours of the park who don't bother coming. It just seems like there are fewer and fewer people there each year. And that's sad because I wanted Biscuit to have the experience of being around his extended family.
But I guess we'll just keep going and see what happens.
I can say that this year, Biscuit held court. Mama set him up on a picnic table, and he sang and said his ABCs and counted in English and Spanish and held conversations with everybody who came by. They all got a kick out of him. Jeff and I just sat there and watched as Mama showed him off. And of course, it made us very proud that everybody was making a fuss over him.
My aunt (Mama's sister) has the thickest Georgia drawl you've ever heard. She makes Paula Deen sound like she's from the city. She said she could listen to Biscuit talk all day long. "Kim, it's scary how smart that baby is," she said. Well, actually, there were many more syllables to it when she said it. It was more like, "Kiiiiiii-um, it's scary how smaaaaaart that bay-bee i-uhs."
We spent the first night in the same hotel as my brother, sister-in-law and their kids. They love Biscuit, and Biscuit loves them. When we were a few hours into our drive, Biscuit said, "We go home, Mom?" I told him we were going to see our family, and he started naming over everybody. "We go see all my peoples, Mom." It tickles me every time he says that. Biscuit has no idea how many "peoples" he actually has.
Our hotel room had two queen-size beds, so Jeff slept in one bed, and Biscuit and I slept in the other. We have a cool little fold-up cot for him to sleep on, but I figured he might sleep better if he was with me. I was afraid he might roll off the bed, so I backed a chair up against the edge of the bed on his side. About 3:30 a.m., I heard this tiny, sleepy, little voice say, "OH NO!" My eyes flew open just in time to see Biscuit starting to slide between the bed and the chair. I grabbed his arm, dragged him over to my side of the bed, cuddled him close and told him he was okay. He went back to sleep within seconds, but I wasn't so lucky. At that point, my adrenaline was pumping. I took catnaps from then until dawn. I'm not a coffee drinker, but as sleepy as I was the next morning, I seriously considered getting a cup at the continental breakfast the hotel laid out.
We spent the second night at my uncle's house, where my parents were staying. My uncle has a small dog who isn't used to being around kids, so we had to keep Biscuit and the dog separated. Biscuit wanted so badly to play with the dog, but I kept telling him that the dog didn't know how to play with little boys and might get too rough. The dog's name is Luke, but instead of the "L" sound, Biscuit uses a "W." So he spent the entire day saying things like, "No bark, Wuke," "Go outside, Wuke" or "Wuke pway with his toy."
We left Monday about 11 a.m. We stopped and had lunch in Griffin, the town Biscuit was named after. As we were driving through Atlanta, I was trying to point out the tall buildings and some of the cool signs, but Biscuit was fascinated with the "tunnels." That's how he referred to the overpasses. Most of them are several lanes wide or either have covered walkways on them, so I guess they are sort of like tunnels. They're wide enough that they have lights mounted on the side walls. "Tunnels, Mom!" he said. "And another tunnel and another tunnel and another tunnel, Mom!"
The majority of our drive is on I-85, so we saw lots of 18-wheelers along the way. "Look at truck's whistle, Mom," Biscuit said. Whistle? I couldn't figure out what he was talking about. Then finally, Jeff said, "I think he's talking about the exhaust pipes on either side of the truck's cab. They're like train whistles." Sure enough, as we questioned him more about it, that's exactly what he was talking about.
Biscuit was so good during our whole trip. There were a couple of whining incidents but no big meltdowns or tantrums. He was also good in the car. I hear about some kids who fight tooth and nail about getting in their car seats, but we've been lucky so far. Of course, with Jeff and me both being car people, maybe Biscuit is just excited about getting to be in the car, regardless of being strapped into his seat.
We all slept so well Monday night. It's fun to travel, and it's really good to see family, but there is nothing like getting back home and crawling into your very own bed.
Biscuit and I walked into the store this evening, and he yelled out, "Mom, do you need to potty? You go to potty, Mom?"
I guess I do use the potty at this particular store quite often, but it's mainly because they have a family bathroom. It's a big, open private bathroom with a toilet, a sink and a changing table. Like most 2 1/2-year-olds, Biscuit loves to touch and feel and discover. And those are just not things you want to have happen in a public bathroom. So the family bathroom is perfect.
As I enter the store, I can put Biscuit in the seat of a buggy, then wheel him right into that big ol' bathroom. The buggy keeps Biscuit safely contained, so I can do my business, then wheel him out.
Apparently, I use the family bathroom at this one store more often than I thought. Enough so that Biscuit put two and two together and made it a routine.
So we walked into the store, and he yelled loudly enough for everybody in the area to hear, "You go potty, Mom?"
And I said just as loudly back, "Nope. I don't have to potty right now, but thank you for asking."
Last year, when Biscuit was in the toddler room, he bit a little girl in his class. This didn't set off any alarm bells to me because at that age, it happens. Griffin was on the receiving end more than once, too.
Kids that age are getting more and more teeth, and their mouths hurt. So they chew on things and bite things. And unfortunately, sometimes they chew and bite on each other.
The thing that made this particular incident worth mentioning is that the teacher in the class was new, and she told me that Biscuit bit a little girl. And she told me in front of the little girl's mother. That is a big no-no. You never tell the parent of the bitee who the biter was. The kids forgive and forget almost immediately, but unfortunately, parents don't.
And that's what happened. The mother of that little girl wouldn't speak to me anymore. It's been about a year, and she has still been holding a grudge.
Biscuit's day care had a Mother's Day lunch for us Friday, so I went there on my lunch break from work. The lady who does the cooking made some really good lasagna, and they served salad, bread and an apple pie. I got Biscuit from his class, and he was all excited about us eating together. I fixed our plates, then I looked around the room to find a place to sit.
Do you remember that feeling in high school when you get your lunch tray and then you have to find a place to sit? And there's a table of smart kids, a table of athletic kids, a table of band kids, etc. Well, that's how I felt.
There was a table full of women who have babies in the infant room. Then there were the 3-year-olds' moms. And then I saw a table with two seats open. And who should be sitting at that table but last year's bitee and her mom.
I walked over and put mine and Biscuit's plates down. I got Biscuit all settled in his seat and got us drinks. Then as I sat down, I said hello and asked the mom how she was doing. "Fine," she said in a very short tone. And that was it.
All I could think was how ridiculous it was that she wouldn't talk to me, and that she should act like the grown adult she is and get over herself. All kids bite, and if the teacher in that class hadn't been new, that mom would never have known Biscuit was the biter.
So I started talking to her. I asked her some open-ended questions so she'd have to answer me. And I talked to the little girl. I kept making that mom talk to me until it was time for her to go back to work.
And guess what? In that time, I won her over. As she was leaving, she smiled at me, wished me a Happy Mother's Day and said she'd see me later.
Biscuit and I were left at the table by ourselves, so we finished our lunch, and I took him back to his classroom just in time for naptime. What was really comforting to me was that Biscuit laid down on his cot, I covered him with a blanket, he told me he loved me and closed his eyes. No crying. No whining. No drama. His teacher said that wasn't the case with some of the other kids, so to me, that was a sign that Biscuit feels safe and comfortable there.
Anyway, the food we had was so good, I had to go to the kitchen and hug the cook. She's a sweet lady, so I wanted to make sure to compliment the chef.
One thing I didn't tell the cook was that I had something sweeter than her apple pie for dessert. After my lasagna and salad, I enjoyed the taste of victory.
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Update (5/10): I saw the bitee's mom at day care this morning for the first time since our chat. And I'm happy to report that she was very friendly to me. Now that Biscuit has a mouthful of teeth, maybe his biting days are over.
Jeff, Biscuit and I went to a baseball game tonight, but we ended up leaving early.
Here's a list of reasons why:
- I completely forgot we were going to the game until late this afternoon, so I didn't have snacks or a sippy cup for Biscuit.
- Jeff and I didn't have jackets, and it was cool tonight. We had a light-weight jacket for Biscuit, but he still said he was cold.
- Jeff was having some sinus/allergy issues and ended up with an earache. I'm sure the cool wind didn't help.
- I got a sinus headache after lunch today, and it never really went away.
It was just a weird night, and we probably should've skipped the game altogether.
Jeff and Biscuit both said they were cold, so we left where we were sitting and walked around for a while. We visited with a couple of friends who were there. Then we wandered into the gift shop to look around.
Biscuit (like his mama) has a thing for cowboys, so when a guy walked through the store in a cowboy hat, Biscuit was staring him up and down.
"Hey! Where'd you get that hat, Mister?" Griffin asked with a scowl on his face. Jeff and I cracked up. I have no idea where that came from.
The guy didn't hear him, so Biscuit said it again, "Hey! Where'd you get that hat, Mister?" But the guy still didn't hear him. Of course, with the tough-guy look on Biscuit's face, the guy might have been to scared to answer!
I finally told Jeff that we should just go home. Biscuit said, "We not see the baseball mans anymore, Mom?"
"No," I told him. "But we'll come back another night, okay?"
"Okay, Mom. We come back another night to see the baseball mans."
We got to the car, and as I was pulling out of the parking lot, Biscuit said, "Sing baseball song, Mom." I wasn't sure which song he was asking me to sing. "Which baseball song?" I asked.
"Sing baseball song about root, root, root, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 strikes, Mom," Biscuit said. He was talking about "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."
I'm not sure which baseball game he knows about, where they give you 6 strikes. But I sang the song anyway. "Sing again, Mom." So I did. "Sing again, Mom." So I did. "Sing again, Mom." This was getting old.
"I've sung it twice already. Is there another song you'd like to here?" I asked.
"Nope. Sing baseball song again, Mom," he said.
I ended up singing the song 6 times between the ballpark and home.
Biscuit can sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," "Old McDonald," the ABC song and "Itsy Bitsy Spider." I guess the baseball song might be next in line.
The more times I sang it, the more times he heard the words. By the time we got home, he was singing several lines of the song. Maybe The Daddy Man will have a baseball buddy.
Biscuit and I ran by the store to get a little shopping done this evening.
As I was getting Biscuit out of his car seat, he asked if he could carry his race cars into the store. He was holding one car already. I held up two cars, one in each hand, and said, "You can take two cars."
He reached up, grabbed them both and said, "One car, two cars, Mom."
I was outsmarted by my 2 1/2-year-old.
Some people have their pants on the ground. But our Biscuit baby, he has his pants on his head.
My in-laws live up north where it's still cold. So about this time every year, I take pictures of the flowers in our yard and send them to my mother-in-law.
I do it partly to make her jealous and so I can say, "See? If you'd move down here with us, you could see flowers a month or two earlier than you'll see them where you are." I also do it to give her something pretty to look at until all their cold weather goes away.
I grabbed the camera earlier this
evening and asked Biscuit if he wanted to go outside with me. He yelled yes then starting yelling "wahoo!" Have I mentioned that Biscuit likes to go outside?
I told him to go get his sandals. And he said, "We go out and see the ocean, Mama?" The ocean? Yep. He put it together that he wears sandals at the beach and figured that's where we were going.
I explained to him that we were just going into our yard to look at flowers. I figured he might be a little disappointed. But he wasn't. "We go see flowers? Flowers are so coo-uhl," he said.
We hit the front yard first, and I sent Biscuit on a hunt. "Can you find a purple flower?" I asked him. Then he looked for white flowers then yellow. When we were done there, I opened the side gate, and we walked from the front yard into the back yard. I'm not sure how it's happened, but Biscuit has never been through that gate.
We walked through it, and you'd have thought we were walking into a fairy tale land. "WOW, Mom! Trees! Grass! Flowers! This so coo-uhl!" I was a little confused, but hey, he was so excited and pleased with that he was seeing, I just went along with him.
Here are a couple of pictures we took:
I talked to a friend of mine on the phone the other day about lunchtime, but her voice sounded scratchy and almost like she just woke up. She works at night, so it didn't surprise me that she would sound that way.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "Did I wake you up?"
"No, no." she said. "I've been up for a while. I just haven't spoken before now."
She lives by herself, so that's perfectly understandable. But at the same time, I can't remember the last time I had that long of a stretch of silence.
I got home from work about 20 minutes ago. Jeff picked up Biscuit and planned to stop by the grocery store.
That means I'm home all alone. All by myself. Nobody here but me. Do you get that being alone might be a bit of a rarity for me?
Anyway, I'm watching "Cash Cab" on Discovery Channel. I LOVE that show. Jeff teases me because I want to go to New York, not for the Empire State Building or a Yankees game, but rather to be on "Cash Cab."
The host asked a question the contestants didn't know the answer to. They talked to each other and tried to come up with something. So of course, I figured if I yelled out the answer, they would hear me and not get kicked out of the cab.
I got the answer right, but until I yelled it out, I had spent 20 minutes in absolute silence. Now first of all, those who know me know that unless I'm sleeping, I hardly EVER spend 20 minutes in silence.
But my own voice made me jump. It sounded so odd. It had been so quiet, with nothing but the TV, and then this voice out of nowhere.
It's not quiet in here now, though. Jeff and Biscuit came in a little while ago. Jeff went straight to the kitchen, and Biscuit started running around looking for me while yelling my name. He went straight to our bedroom, then our bathroom, then back to the kitchen, then into the living room where I was.
"Mom! Mom! Mom! Dad got surprise for you! Dad got flowers for you! Dad get you flowers!" Biscuit yelled.
"Surprise!" Jeff said, laughing, as he came around the corner. He was holding a bunch of beautiful peachy-orange roses. Today is our 8th anniversary.
As I think about the years Jeff and I have had together and then the years since we've had Biscuit, I realize it wasn't that long ago that I lived by myself and silence was the norm. But nowadays, the noise is a dull roar at best. And I'm okay with that.
Hit the road, Jack. And don'tcha come back no more, no more, no more, no more.
Take a good look at this picture. If all continues to go well, this will be the last photo you see here of my precious Biscuit baby with that pacifier stuck in his mouth.
We went to Mama's house for Easter, and I almost forgot to pack the bowl we use to store Biscuit's pacifiers. The thought crossed my mind to just leave it home, but I panicked at the last minute and threw them in Biscuit's bag.
We got to Mama's, and Biscuit got busy greeting "all his peoples," and he never asked for a pacifier. We had been keeping it from him during the day anyway, so he would usually only ask for it close to bedtime.
As bedtime rolled around, he asked for it, "I have paseefier, Mom?"
"Let's go brush your teeth," I said. He asked again, and I came up with something else to stall him.
Finally, he fell asleep without it. He didn't ask for it again until we got home two days later.
Biscuit is routine-oriented about a lot of things. (I have no idea where he got that from.) So our first night back at home, he wandered into the kitchen and called me.
"I have paseefier, Mom?" he asked.
"I don't see one," I said to him.
"Yeah, Mom. Right there," he said as he pointed to where we usually keep them. Luckily, as I was unpacking, I stuck the bowl in a cabinet, so he couldn't see them.
"I think we left them at Grandmama's house," I said. "We'll have to get them next time we go down there."
And he hasn't asked for one again.
I never had a strong feeling one way or another about Biscuit's pacifier usage until a girlfriend of mine asked him a question one day. He answered her question without ever taking the pacifier out of his mouth. You could sort of understand what he was saying, but he's so good at talking, I just hated for him to try to talk around that thing.
It's certainly been a lot easier than I thought it would be to get rid of them. I'm not sure if he's forgotten about them completely or if he might ask again.
But as far as I'm concerned, his pacifiers have hit the road, Jack!
