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.
Jeff had to cover a basketball game last night, so Biscuit and I met one of my friends out for dinner.
I can't remember what started us on the conversation, but my friend and I were talking about how little kids take everything you say literally, mostly because they don't know the colloquialisms or adages we use.
Tonight at dinner, I was trying to prompt Biscuit to tell Jeff what we did last night, and this conversation happened:
Me: "Tell Daddy what we did last night. Who did we hang out with?"
Biscuit: "Hang out coat, Daddy."
Me: "Yeah, we put up your coat, but who did we hang out with last night?"
Biscuit: "We hang out coat, Daddy."
He heard the word "hang," and he couldn't get past the literal meaning.
Last night after we got home, I wanted to help Biscuit blow his nose. "Biscuit, can you get me a Kleenex, so we can blow your nose?" The box of tissues was on the table behind him. Biscuit looked around, threw up his hands and said, "Don't see them, Mom."
"Turn around and you'll see them," I said. Biscuit then spun all the way around until he was facing me again and said, "Don't see them, Mom."
I said "turn around," and he did ... ALL the way around.
Of course, Jeff is just as bad sometimes, and he doesn't have toddlerhood as an excuse.
He came in the house the other day holding his arm. I asked him what was wrong, and he said he rapped his elbow (that's Jeff speak for he banged his elbow!).
"Where?" I asked him.
"Right here," he said, pointing to a spot on his arm.
"Where did you hit it?" I asked.
"RIGHT HERE," he said, making a bigger gesture to the spot on his arm.
He still didn't get that I was asking what he had hit his elbow on.
Now that I think about it, maybe it's just a male thing.
There were a few other things about our beach trip that I wanted to mention. Biscuit is at such a fun age right now. He’s starting to put things together and make comparisons and just really seeing things his own way.
The ocean: When we got to the room, I took Biscuit to the sliding glass door that opens to the balcony and asked, “What do you see?”
“Ooo. I see a ocean,” he said. “It coming to us. Look, Mama. It coming right to us.”
The bridge: Atlantic Beach is on a long, skinny island, so there’s a tall arcing bridge that connects the island to the mainland. The first time we went over the bridge, we were all excited to see the ocean. But as we were going back over the bridge to go to dinner, Biscuit got chatty. He had to repeat what he said a few times before we got it.
“This troll bridge, Mama and Daddy,” Biscuit said. “Big troll live under bridge.” I’m guessing he’s talking about the “Three Billy Goats Gruff.”
A new game: Biscuit came up with a game to play on our trip. It takes about 4 to 4½ hours to get from our house to the beach we were going to. We thought it was cute … well, at least the first 20 times we had to play it.
“What your favorite animal, Mama?” Biscuit would ask.
I didn’t know my choice would be my final answer, so I said, “My favorite animal is … um … a … um … brown cow. Moooooooo.”
“That nice dog barking, Daddy,” Biscuit said. “What your favorite animal, Mama?”
I thought I was change things up a little, so I said, “My favorite animal is a gray dolphin. Eeek. Eeek. Eeek”
“No, Mama. Your favorite animal a brown cow. Mooooo,” Biscuit said. I didn’t realize that my first choice would also be my last. I think I would’ve picked something a little more interesting than a brown cow.”
Griffin’s favorite animal, by the way, was a brown horse. That worked out well because there’s an island near Atlantic Beach that is home to a population of 40-plus wild horses. It’s called Carrot Island if you want to check it out.
The postcard: I found a postcard with a great picture of one of the wild horses on it. “We have to buy this for the boy,” I told Jeff.
You would’ve thought we handed him a 24-karat gold brick. He was so excited about his “horse picture.” He carried it around while we were at the beach, then he kept it on the kitchen table for at least three days after we got home.
Jeff is usually really busy this time of the year covering college basketball. So when we realized that he was going to have four days in a row, including a weekend, with no games to go to, we decided a quick vacation was in order.
We went to Atlantic Beach, the place where we got married back in 2003. Some people think we're crazy for going to the beach when it's cold, but we really like it a lot. I don't get sunburned. The beach isn't crowded. The restaurants don't have waits. The only drawback is that some restaurants, stores and attractions are closed for the season. But seeing as this was more about the three of us spending time together than anything else, we were okay with having limited distractions.
We went on Thursday and came back on Sunday, so we had two fulls days and two partial days. It takes about 4 to 4 1/2 hours to get there.
Thursday night, we went to one of our favorite restaurants. Unfortunately, we didn't call first. When we got there, we found out they were still closed for the season. They weren't opening until the next night. So we ended up trying a restaurant we had never been to before. The parking lot was full on a Thursday night in winter, so I figured that was a good sign. And I was right. It was a nice place with great views of the water and great food.
Biscuit was so good. It helped that we were sitting near the bar where there were several TVs mounted on the walls. He had his choice of race cars or hockey to watch, and they both captured his attention enough that we could relax and have a leisurely dinner. Jeff was a backup P.A. announcer for his college's hockey team and ran the penalty box at most games, so he's liked hockey for a while. I had been to Charlotte Checkers games back in the day. And once we started dating, Jeff and I would occasionally go to Carolina Hurricanes games together. But we realized that even with all of that, Biscuit has never really seen hockey for any amount of time.
"Play ice skate baseball, Dad." Biscuit said. Ice skate baseball. How cool is that?!?
Biscuit had snacked some on the trip, so I figured we could let him munch off of our plates. He had shrimp, hushpuppies, corn and fries. And he was quite taken with all of it. He ate well over the whole weekend.
When the server brought back the change from our bill, there was a green piece of folded fabric under the money folder. I asked him what it was, and he said the owner of the restaurant was so impressed with Biscuit's behavior that she wanted to give him a T-shirt. How nice was that?
The truth is, Biscuit was good at all three of the restaurants we chose for dinner. The first night he had the ice skate baseball and race cars as a distraction, and the second night was easy because it was a family restaurant that's kind of noisy all the time. But the third restaurant has more ambience. And it was Valentine's Day weekend. So I was a little worried about being a distraction for couples seeking a little romance. My worries were for naught. Biscuit was so good during the whole meal that we ordered dessert. And were able to sit and enjoy that, too.
Breakfast and lunch, on the other hand, were no picnic. Biscuit didn't sleep well while we were there, so when he got up, he was just pure joy to be around (she said sarcastically). He said he was hungry, but he didn't want to eat. He said he was ready to get up, but he said he was still sleepy. He wanted to go outside, but he didn't want us to get him dressed. Saturday morning, I finally told Jeff that if we didn't get Biscuit out into the sand soon, I was going to toss him over the balcony.
Once we finally force-fed Biscuit breakfast and wrangled him into some clothes, he was his happy, normal self. But boy were our mornings trying.
It rained all day Friday, so we spent a good part of the day at the aquarium. There were several groups of elementary schools kids there, and I'm not sure what was more fascinating to Biscuit, the kids or the fish.
Saturday was still a little cool, but we bundled Biscuit up and took him out to play in the sand. With a sweat suit, baseball cap, hooded coat and sunglasses, plus the pacifier that we couldn't pry out of his hands that weekend, all you could see of Biscuit was cheeks and hands. We made sand castles, picked up shells and chased the sea gulls. Biscuit played so hard Saturday morning that he took a 2 1/2-hour nap, leaving time for Jeff and me to hang out on the balcony watching the dolphins play in the ocean.
After Biscuit woke up, we saw a huge flock of sea gulls in the yard outside our balcony. Jeff took Biscuit to see the ruckus, and Biscuit started yelling, "BIRD! BIRD! BIRD!!!" The people in the room next to ours were throwing little pieces of bread out to feed the gulls, and they heard Biscuit. Jeff said all of a sudden, this disembodied hand reached around the edge of the balcony to hand over two slices of bread. Jeff said it was very nice, but it was a little freaky to see a hand appear like that. It's sort of an unwritten rule that you don't feed the sea gulls, but it's so much fun, everyone does it anyway.
We tried to visit Fort Macon on Saturday afternoon, but we had barely made it in the door of the new section of the fort when a man stepped out of a hallway and laughed real loud, scaring Biscuit enough that he tripped over his own feet and slammed his head into the wall. It was so hard and so loud that everybody around us stopped what they were doing and turned around to see what was going on. I scooped up Biscuit and moved out to a spot that had better light, so I could see the damage.
I glanced up at his forehead, and it was flaming red. I started to get shaky, then just as my first aid knowledge started kicking in, Jeff reached up and wiped his hand across Biscuit's forehead. Most of the redness disappeared, then Jeff showed me his fingers, and there is was. Apparently, the walls in that part of the fort were made out of the same pine they would've used when the fort was built, and the stain on the wall had a powdery finish, which rubbed off on Biscuit's head as he scraped down it.
Even though I realized that the scrape wasn't anywhere near as bad as I thought it was, he still hit hard enough that I was worried about a concussion. Biscuit had already had his nap, so we just kept him up and going for the rest of the afternoon. Jeff knew I was too distracted to enjoy the fort that day, so we left with the plan to stop by on our way out of town.
The next morning, the only evidence you could see on Biscuit's head was a bluish line across his eyebrow from his sunglasses. Last year, we couldn't get Biscuit to keep sunglasses on, but on this beach trip, we could hardly get him to take them off. He was wearing them inside at Fort Macon, so when he fell, the frames of the glasses pushed into his forehead. Before we left Sunday, we stopped back by the fort and were able to get a good look at the new addition they opened this year. It included a lot of stuff about the fort, which we've seen several times, plus a lot of information about the animals, plants, sea shells and other things you can find on the island.
All in all, it was a fun trip. Or as Jeff likes to say, "Refreshments were served, and a good time was had by all."
I shouldn't have laughed. Jeff was making a point. But I couldn't help it. It was too funny not to laugh.
Biscuit was stomping his foot into a box of cars - repeatedly.
"Stop stepping on those cars, or I'm going to take them away," I said to Biscuit. "You have to take care of your toys if you want to keep them."
"Yeah, Biscuit," Jeff said. "Toys are a privilege not a right."
I just cracked up. I'm not sure why that struck me as so funny, but the way Jeff said it was just so serious. And he was pointing his finger at Biscuit, too. I just kept laughing.
Then Jeff said, "What?!? I'm parenting here!" Except to me, it sounded like Dustin Hoffmann in "Midnight Cowboy," "I'm parentin' heah!"
Biscuit is a big fan of horses and cowboys right now.
He has a bouncy horse (he calls it his cowboy horse) that he loves to ride (just like the one below). As a matter of fact, if Jeff is watching a Western movie on TV, Biscuit will slide his bouncy horse out closer to the TV, then he'll get on his horse and ride as long as the TV cowboys are on their horses.
For the past hour or so, Jeff and Biscuit have been in our bedroom watching TV, and I've been in the living room watching a TV show on my computer that I missed this week. About five minutes ago, Mr. Biscuit walks in.
"Hi, Mama. I get horse. Okay?" Biscuit said.
I have to admit, it was a pivotal point in my show, so I just said okay and didn't really pay a lot of attention to what he was doing. When my show ended, I realized that Biscuit's horse was gone.
I walked into our bedroom to find his cowboy horse and cowboy hat at the foot of our bed and he and Jeff were on the bed watching "Conagher" with Sam Elliott.
Jeff said he was flipping channels and came upon the original "True Grit." Biscuit yelled "Cowboys. Horses." and wanted to watch. Jeff knew the movie would be a little too much shoot-'em-up for Biscuit, so he put the "Conagher" DVD in the player.
As soon as Biscuit saw the first horse, he asked Jeff to set him down off the bed, then he said, "Be right back, Dad."
That's when he came in the living room, grabbed his horse and dragged it from the living room, through the dining room, through the kitchen and into our bedroom.
I think I'll go join Jeff and Griffin. I have always had a thing for cowboys!
We took Biscuit to the zoo a couple of Sundays ago. We've never taken him before, mainly because that place is so big, we just wanted him to be a little more independent. And I'm glad we waited. It was a good trip.
The zoo nearest us has two parts - North America and Africa. On the way there, I asked Jeff which side he'd like to start with because I didn't know how long Biscuit would last, and if there were certain animals Jeff and I wanted to see, I figured we should see them first. We agreed that we would go in at the Africa entrance because the elephants, rhinos and lions were the main attractions for us.
Plus, a friend of ours figured out the laziest way to see the zoo. And with a 2-year-old in tow, I was going to happily try out her method. She figured out that the middle of the zoo is the highest point. So as soon as you enter the zoo, take the trolley to the middle of the zoo, then walk downhill through one side. Then take the trolley back to the middle and walk downhill through the other side.
But our plans were doused when we got there. Because it's off season, the Africa entrance wasn't even open. All zoo traffic had to enter at North America, then you could take the trolley or walk all the way to Africa. So we headed into North America.
I looked at the map and realized that the seals and polar bears weren't far from the entrance, so we started walking. I figured we could just walk until we were tired, then we could pick up a trolley wherever we stopped.
We got to the seals first, and this was the first picture I took. See that face? I could've taken this picture of Biscuit all day long. This was the face he had at pretty much every exhibit.
The seals were really active. We watched them for a while in a cave-like area where you can see them swimming by. Biscuit called them dolphins at first. Actually, he argued with me saying they weren't seals. They were dolphins. I figure he has plenty of time to learn the difference between dolphins and seals, so I didn't argue with him. Plus, he was in a great mood, and I didn't want to jinx it with an argument.
Willie the polar bear was spending the afternoon relaxing on the rocks. He was lying still with his eyes closed when we got to him.
"WAKE UP, POLE BEAH!" Biscuit yelled. I think he thought the animals were there for his entertainment, much like the animated ones he sees on TV. And oddly enough, Willie decided to wake up and look around a bit right after Biscuit yelled at him.
We also saw a couple of black bears. One of them grabbed the trunk of a skinny little cedar tree and bent it all the way over. Then it just propped its front legs on the tree and relaxed. It was so funny.
"Beah funny, Daddy," Biscuit said. In the past few months, he's been learning a lot about emotions and how to tell them apart. The other black bear was just kind of skulking around. "Beah mad, Daddy?" Biscuit asked Jeff. Sometimes it's hard to answer those questions. If you ever pay close attention to people, they're often mad for no good reason (or for really stupid reasons), and when Biscuit asks, you have to try to explain it to him. Right now, changing the subject seems to work really well!
Anyway, we saw desert animals, including road runners, ocelots, some funky-looking lizards and some other birds. We also saw bison, elk and wolves.
After that, we got to a sign that said, "Congratulations. You've made it to the mid-point of the zoo." Then there was a sign that said "Africa" and had an arrow pointing straight ahead. We just kept walking from exhibit to exhibit and never caught the trolley. At that point, we figured we might as well just walk through Africa.
We got to the gorillas, and I said to Biscuit, "Look, Biscuit. Check out the gorillas."
Still in his argumentative mood, he said, "No, Mama. Not bogillas." Bogillas?!? I'm not sure where that even came from because he has the book "Good Night, Gorilla," that we've had to read 1,000 times.
We checked out the rhinos and ostriches. Then we got to the elephants. They have these cute little metal sculptures of the animals that kids can sit on. We got pictures of Biscuit on a praying mantis, a ladybug, a honey bee and this elephant. For some reason, he didn't take to the giant rhino sculpture, and the bison sculpture was too big to even get him up on. All in all, we had a nice day. Biscuit has asked me a couple of times since that day to see the animal pictures. I can say for sure, that won't be our last trip to the zoo.
I realized that I've been using the phrase "more on that in a later post" a lot lately. So I figured I better start making good on my word.
A few weeks ago, my friend Holly invited Biscuit and me to see a movie with her at one of the local theaters in town. Biscuit had never been to a movie before, so I thought I better have the chat with Holly before we went.
"Here are the potential problems with taking Biscuit to a movie," I said to her. Then I proceeded to explain that Biscuit, like all 2-year-olds, has an attention span of about 20 minutes at the most (figured by the average length of a show on Nick Jr.). He doesn't have a filter on his sweet, little mouth, which translates to "if he thinks it, he says it." He might be bored and go to sleep. He might not be able to sit still. And probably a few other warnings that I don't even remember.
Holly was not scared. She was excited. So I don't think there's anything I could've told her that would have made her want to cancel.
The movie, which was a fundraiser for an area children's home, was "Muppets Take Manhattan." Remember a blog post last June about Biscuit having an Elmo vs. Zoe fight with a grown-adult friend of mine? Well, Holly is that friend. It's an understatement to say that she has a thing for the Muppets.
I picked Biscuit up from day care that evening and took him straight to have a quick dinner.
And let me take a minute to say that despite the fact that baby car seats are safe, and I would never ever consider taking Biscuit anywhere without one, they are a big pain in the backside, especially when you're making several stops in a short amount of time.
At daycare, I put Biscuit in his car seat, then we drove five minutes to the restaurant. I got him out of his car seat, took him into the restaurant, got his belly full, then put him back in his car seat. I then drove two minutes to a convenience store, took him out of his car seat, went in and bought a drink to sneak into the movie theater, then put him back into his car seat and drove five minutes to the theater. I took him out of his car seat, put him in his stroller and took him into the theater.
Each time I put him into his car seat, I have to get his arms through the straps, finagle the straps to the right position and fasten three buckles. And depending on whether he's wearing a coat or a light jacket or just a shirt, I have to adjust the length of the straps, too. It's not terribly difficult, but after you do it that many times in that short a time span, it gets to be frustrating.
Back to the movie.
We got to the theater at the same time as Holly, and Biscuit was really excited to see her. She brought a stuffed Kermit for Biscuit to play with. And of course, she was wearing a Piggy shirt. Piggy is her favorite.
On another side note, every once in a while, Holly will meet Biscuit and me at Target to do some shopping. Somewhere down the line, Biscuit has associated Holly and Target, so now every time we pull into the Target parking lot, Biscuit says, "See Hah-ee? See Hah-ee?"
Back to the movie ... again.
We bought our tickets, got our popcorn and went into the theater. They had booster seats for kids, so we grabbed one of those, and it put Biscuit up high enough to see.
We got settled in, and the movie started.
Biscuit's first comment (out loud, of course) was, "It dark, Mama. It dark."
"Shhhhhhhhh," I said. The first of many times I made that noise.
Then, Kermit came on the screen and started to sing.
"FOG!!! FOG!!! WIBBIT!!!! WIBBIT!!!! Mama, fog! Fog, Mama!" Biscuit was really loud, and I was really worried. I was trying to figure out how I would handle anyone who made a comment about him.
I whispered to Holly, "Is he too loud? Should I take him outside?"
"Dude! Of course not," Holly said. "Everybody has seen the movie before. Plus, this is a fundraiser. It's supposed to be fun. He's fine."
Then the pig showed up!
Miss Piggy started her song, and Biscuit yelled "PIG" and "OINK" just like he yelled "FOG" and "WIBBIT" for Kermit. And much to my relief, the people nearest us laughed every time Biscuit named a new animal.He continued to call out every animal he could make out, including Rowlf the dog and Fozzie the bear, but he grew quite quiet when Gonzo appeared on the screen. I don't blame him. I don't know exactly what Gonzo is, either.
Biscuit got pretty involved in the movie. He was following the storyline and seemed pretty content. Then all of a sudden, he was done.
"Want to go home, Mama," Biscuit said.
I only needed to hear it once. As soon as he said that, I was on the move. I got our stuff together in record time, and Holly was already taking Biscuit down the steps. I finally had to admit to Holly that I had never seen the movie before, either, and I wanted to know how far Biscuit made it. "So how much of the movie is left?" I asked Holly.
After she got over being horrified at the fact that I had never seen the movie, Holly said that we were only missing the last 15 minutes or so. I was really impressed with Biscuit's staying power, and so was Holly.
I'm not sure if he's ready for a new release, but I'd be very willing to take Biscuit to a fundraising-type event again. So Holly, I guess you should be on the lookout for a showing of "Muppets in Space."
Here are Holly and Biscuit in the lobby before the movie:
Jeff, Biscuit and I snuck away for a long weekend at the beach (more in a later post). Friday turned out to be a rainy day, so we took Biscuit to the aquarium. Want to know what Biscuit wanted to see most at the aquarium? Watch the video, and you'll find out.
Here's a recent frustrating conversation between Biscuit and me.
Me: "Come see Daddy on TV, Biscuit." (Jeff was covering a college basketball game that night.)
Biscuit: "No, Mom. Dad not TV."
Me: "Yeah, he's at the basketball game. Want to come see?"
Biscuit: "No, Mom. Dad not basketball. Dad wuk." He doesn't get that Jeff's work is basketball.
Biscuit has been asserting his own opinions lately - sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way. Although, it would be safe to say that the bad way doesn't get him very far! On some topics, he can argue all he wants, and he still won't get his way. And boy does he hate it when that happens.
We went to the zoo Sunday afternoon (more on that in another post), and Biscuit argued with me about some of the animals.
Me: "Look Biscuit, a seal!"
Biscuit: "No, Mom. That dolphin."
I don't think there are seals in any of his animal books, so I could understand that one. But still, it's hard to know when to let things go and when to correct him. It turns into a "pick your battle" situation. Figuring he'll learn the difference between seals and dolphins at some point, I didn't push it. But then later that evening when I was showing him the pictures I took that day, he said, "Look, Mom. A seal." So not pushing it was the right call.
The other frustrating part of toddlerhood is his love of the word "no." He uses it quite freely.
Bath time ... no. Dinner time ... no. Bed time ... no.
I think those are pretty common to most toddlers. But Biscuit has some others that are just him being stubborn.
The other evening when we got home, I reached down to unzip his coat, and he grabbed the front of his coat with both his hands. "NO, MOM. WANT COAT ON!" We were home for the evening, and he walked around for about half an hour with his coat still on.
One morning he was eating pancakes (with pancake sauce, of course), and I tried to push up the sleeves of his pajamas, so he wouldn't get them sticky. "NO, MOM. WANT SLEEVES DOWN!"
Ugh! Did you see the scene in "A League of Their Own" when Tom Hanks' hands were shaking in front of him as he tried not to throttle one of the more clueless players? That's exactly how I feel sometimes.
So short of shaking him, I guess I'll just keep trying to pick my battles. But just in case, does anyone have the ZIP code for Outer Mongolia?!?
We were at the zoo today, and every time that ocelot passed a rock, tree branch, leaf or speck of dirt, he marked his territory. In the past week, Biscuit has marked Jeff and me on two different occasions.
Last week, Biscuit was lying on our bed and Jeff was drying him off after a bath. Biscuit started flailing his legs, and Jeff scolded him and told him to stop kicking. Biscuit, like most 2-year-olds, doesn't like to be scolded, so he got upset and started crying.
Jeff was in the process of standing Biscuit up to put lotion on his back, when he realized that his shirt was getting wetter and wetter. Biscuit was peeing on him. He got Jeff's shirt, the changing pad, the towel and of course, the comforter on our bed. Luckily, my washing machine will hold a king-size comforter!
Then tonight, I was sitting in the bathroom floor with one leg folded under me while I rubbed lotion on Biscuit after his bath. All of a sudden, my folded leg started feeling really warm. We walked all day at the zoo, so I thought, "Is that some weird cramp or something in my leg?" Then I realized ... it's WET!!! HE JUST PEED ON ME!!!
We've been talking with Biscuit about potty training, but he just doesn't get it yet. We got him one of the potty seats that fits on top of a regular toilet seat. He likes to sit there, but he has no idea why he's up there.
And I've been getting the potty training question a lot. I guess because that'll be the next big milestone for Biscuit. But I just don't see any point in trying to push him into it. He'll get there when he gets there.
In the meantime, though, it seems like Jeff and I need to be more careful after bath time!
Don't you hate it when something you teach a child comes back to haunt you?
In an effort to keep my little man from whining when he couldn't get something to work the way he wanted it to, I told him that he needed to learn to ask for help.
I went through the whole speech of how whining doesn't accomplish anything, but if he asks for help, he can really get things done.
And what's my payback?
"I need help, Mama" ... all ... the ... time ... about ... every ... thing ...
In the long run, I know I taught him something good, but until he learns to temper his help-asking, I think I'm going to regret this one for a bit.
Sometimes when Biscuit talks, his speech is so plain, and I can understand everything he says. Then other times, he’ll try to tell me something, and I just have no clue what he’s trying to say. When that happens, he gets very frustrated. Here was a conversation we had yesterday evening after we left Target.
“Bucka, Mama?” Biscuit asked. I didn’t understand what he was saying, so I asked him to repeat himself.
“Bucka, Mama?” he said again. And I still didn’t get it.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re asking me, Biscuit,” I said.
This is where the frustration happened.
“FASTEN SEATBELT, MAMA!!!” he yelled. Then I got it. He was asking if I was buckled in.
“Yes. I have my seatbelt fastened. Thank you for checking, but you do not yell at me again,” I said.
It seems that for the past few months, trips to restaurants have been really hit or miss for us. Sometimes it's Biscuit, sometimes it's not. We've just had very odd luck with service, food and restaurant behavior.
Luckily, the issues have come one at a time.
During our lunch hour one day, Jeff and I went to a hamburger place where we sat and stared at (and smelled!) the previous customers' food for about 15 minutes. The server passed us several times and even cleared a table then took orders from a table of customers who came in after us. Running out of time and patience, Jeff and I got up to leave. Then the server came over and was all apologetic. Too late, sister. We went next door and got tasty food, quite quickly.
On another outing, we went to a place that usually has great food. Jeff's parents were here, and we took them to a steakhouse that we go to several times a year. I was excited about going but was really disappointed by our food. It was okay, but it came nowhere near meeting the standards we usually hold for that particular place. Plus, they got my order wrong, which certainly didn't help the situation.
Despite these experiences, I still enjoy eating out and thought it would be a good option for tonight.
We had a big-deal sporting event in town this past week, so Jeff had to work seven 12-hour days in a row. Today (Day 8) was a regular 8-hour day, so I thought it would be nice for the three of us to have dinner out together. I picked somewhere I thought was family-friendly and told Jeff to meet us there after I picked up Biscuit from day care.
Biscuit and I got to the restaurant before Jeff, and I asked for a table for two and a high chair. I'm not sure why, but when the hostess rounded the corner with the high chair, Biscuit went nuts with excitement, "HIGH CHAIR, HIGH CHAIR, HIGH CHAIR!!!!" It was like he had never seen one before.
Our server came over, and the first thing he did was lay down a couple of packs of crackers in front of Biscuit. Score! Then he asked what we'd like to drink. I told him I'd like tea, I got water for Jeff and before I could tell him what Biscuit wanted, the server squatted down to Biscuit's level and said, "What would you like to drink?" "TEA!!!" Biscuit yelled to him. The server looked at me, I guess for my approval, and I gave him the nod that it was okay.
The server brought our drinks back and asked if I wanted to wait before I ordered our food. I told him yes, but Biscuit piped up and said, "I need fench fies, pease." The server and I laughed, and I said, "I'm sorry, but I guess he knows what he wants."
Jeff arrived and was looking at the menu when the server walked up and gave Biscuit a plate with a handful of fries on it. It was so nice. I thanked him, and he said he has four grandchildren who call him Papa and get whatever they want from him, too.
Biscuit gave him the sweetest smile and said, "Thank you, Papa," and the server seemed to get a kick out of that.
The food was good, and the server kept checking on us. It was just a nice restaurant experience.
There was an older woman sitting alone at the table behind us. As she got up to leave, she turned around and looked at Biscuit. Biscuit had been talking up a storm during dinner, describing what he was eating, making car noises with his little race cars, and just generally talking Jeff's ear off since he hasn't seen him this week. At one point, Biscuit wanted to dip a french fry into the blue cheese dressing Jeff had for his salad. "Too spicy, Dad," Biscuit said.
Anyway, the woman said, "I just wanted to see who was doing all that talking during my dinner." At first, I couldn't tell if she was serious or joking. Then she smiled. "I heard him telling the server exactly what he wanted. I like a man who knows what he wants."
"You picked the right man, then," I said to her.
"And how could he resist a beautiful, young woman like me?" she said, laughing.
My dinner was good, but I wanted something sweet afterward, so we went through a close-by drive-through and got a little chocolate milkshake. I let Jeff taste it, then Biscuit wanted a taste. He took a sip and said, "Mmmm, Mama. Good."
We got home, went inside and got our coats and shoes off. Then I felt a little tug on my pants leg. "Mama. Mama," Biscuit said.
"What, Baby?" I asked.
"I need more ice cream tea," Biscuit said.
At first I didn't understand. "What in the world is ice cream tea?" I was thinking.
Then it occurred to me that when he sees me with a takeout cup, it usually has tea in it. So he put the two together and came up with "ice cream tea." So to reward his creative thinking, I did indeed give him another sip of my ice cream tea.
Maybe our run of bad restaurant experiences has come to an end. I hope so.
After a morning full of drama, Biscuit took a long nap and seems to be in a better mood.
We just read a book where he named (with no help) a volcano, a brontosaurus, a T-Rex and a pterodactyl.
Then he picked up a book about shapes, and upon seeing an orange oval, he said, "Orange oval. I got 'nother oval." Then he went to his toy bucket, picked up a red football, brought it over to me and said, "Red oval, Mama."
He opened a basket of plastic animals he has and pulled out a little, green frog.
"Look, Mama, a tree fwog," Biscuit said.
"Cool, a frog," I said.
"NO, Mama. A TREE fwog." Well, excuse me, Mr. Smarty Pants.
A morning of drama has slid into an evening of amazement at how much a kid can learn in just 2 years.
There aren't words to describe the feeling I just recovered from ... a feeling I'd really like to never experience again.
I walked back into my bedroom from a quick bathroom trip and found Biscuit holding his pacifier saying, "It boken, Mama. It boken."
Once I got close enough to see it, my heart sank. Biscuit was holding his pacifier and half of the nipple part of it was torn off and was nowhere to be found.
Let me just pause and say ... HOLY CRAP!!!!!
"Biscuit, where is the other part of your pacifier?" I asked frantically.
"In my mouf," he said.
"WHAT?!?!?" is what I said, but what I was thinking was "HOLY CRAP!!!!!"
"Did you swallow it? Did you eat it? Is it in your mouth? Is it in your tummy?" I was trying to ask him any question that might get the answer I wanted. And he was just crawling around on the bed as if nothing was wrong.
He seemed fine. He wasn't choking. But still, did he swallow it? What would a hunk of silicone do to a little boy's belly? Could it cause a blockage? Could it get stuck somewhere? How would they get it out? OH GOD, I NEED TO TAKE HIM TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM!!!! Of all the nights for Jeff to be working!
I turned to go get my shoes and, luckily I was barefoot, I stepped on the broken piece of silicone nipple.
I'd love to say that I let out a big sigh of relief, but to be truthful, that's when the overwhelming fear kicked in. I know we'll probably have a thousand close calls of one kind or another as Biscuit grows up. And I know that I can't dwell on "what could've been," but jeezy pete that was scary. What if he HAD swallowed it?!?
It's 10:46 right now, and Biscuit is nowhere near sleep. I think some of my adrenaline must've seeped into him as I was hugging him tight. But you know what? I don't care if he's up until 2 a.m. I'm just glad he's okay.
