The Duckie Towel

I haven't been blogging lately and I can only blame it on my having gone back to work, albeit part time but work nonetheless, and literally having no time. Zero time. Which is best illustrated by the fact that for the last three days everyone in my family, including my husband, has been using the duckie hooded towel meant for my daughter with the little googly eyes and the orange feet hanging down. Why don't we have other towels? Fair question. And the truth is that we have plenty of towels but they are either in the washer, the dryer or folded in the guest room and I have not found the thirty seconds it takes to bring them into the bathroom so that we can dry off with normal sized towels. I mean that is RIDICULOUS. I walked into the bathroom and saw my husband patting dry his privates with the duckie beak and I thought, this can't be good.

And speaking of privates and privacy, the topic came up when my son asked to be by himself in his room the other day.

Him: I want to be by myself mommy.
Me: You want me to give you some privacy?
Him: Yes, I want some privacy. Gimme some privacy.
Me: You say, Mommy I'd like some privacy please.
Him: Mommy, I want some privacy please.
Me: Okay, I'll leave and give you some privacy.
Him: No, I want your privacy!
Me: Okay, I'm going.
Him: No, give me the privacy!
Me: Sweetie, privacy is when you are by yourself.
Him: No, give it to me. I want it.
Me: I can give it to you only if I leave.
Him: DON'T GO!!!! I WANT THE PRIVACY!!!! WAHHHH!!!
Me: Bubba (term of endearment), privacy isn't something you can hold or eat. It's not a toy. It's just what you get when you're alone. Why am I explaining this? I should just get him a toy and call it privacy and be done

This conversation continued along the same vein for about a half hour until I finally said, do you want some chocolate milk instead? And he said yes.

We'll have to revisit privacy. Maybe when there are enough towels to go around.

Tan bark

The wood chips on playgrounds. I guess they're called tan bark (see previous post). I only know this because two days ago at a classmate's third birthday party I heard a fellow parent mention tan bark to her daughter since she was whining for the mom to remove it from her shoe. If I had a nickel for everytime I heard that request....

Tan bark. So I guess we don't have to call social services about Mis Chen Jin doing tanbor with my son. In fact, Miss Chen Jin is my son's favorite person and he once asked to sleep with her picture near his bed. So it would make sense that she would help him get tan bark out of his shoe. And that he would love her forever for it.

Tambor Tambol Tambog

On the way home from preschool the other day I asked my son what he did all day and after prodding for some time I came to understand that he rode the tricycle, he ate his peanut butter sandwich, he played with Miss Cassia and Miss Lorena outside, he went down the slide with Gracie, he played "get me" with Pablo, and he drew something with a red marker. A full day indeed.

Then he said he got in the Tambor.
Me: The sandbox?
Him: No, the tambor.
Me: The Tambor?
Him: No, the tambor.
Me: pause
Me: The tambol?
Him: No, the Tambor. And Miss Chen Jin do it to me.
Me: (completely perplexed)
Me: What did you do with Miss Chen Jin?
Him: She put the tambor off me.
Me: She played with you in the sandbox?
Him: (Angrily) No! The tambor!

This went on for a while. I had no idea what he was talking about. Usually if I say the word enough times it morphs into the word he's trying to say. Or if I add an R where he says an O. That sometimes helps. But I am telling you I was totally stumped. And then I remembered a year ago when my nephew, who's a year older than my son, came home from school saying POPOSSI. No one had any idea what he was talking about. We spent probably an hour pointing at different things in his room. Is that a popossi? Nothing. But he kept saying it. Whispering it in fact which made it funnier and likewise more intriguing. Two weeks later we were visiting them again and I asked him about the popossi and he drew a total blank. And that is how the elusive popossi disappeared from our vernacular forever. I was sad to see it leave because whispering it still makes me giggle.

But back to Tambor. What the hell is tambor and why is Miss Chen Jin doing it to my son? And why whenever I pronounce it exatly like my son is pronouncing does he get all huffy and correct my pronunciation? Pardonez moi, Moiliere...How dare I bastardize your langue. I can only imagine that's how he feels when he pronounces a word and I correct him and he says it again the exact same way and so on for weeks.

For instance, the city is doing construction on our street and we have a book about big trucks so we look at all of the trucks outside and find them in the book. Apparently not everything is called a tractor. Who knew.

Me: You see the excavator outside?
Him: Ya, the accelrator.
Me: Right, the excavator. It's so big.
Him: That's a big accelrator.
Me: EXCAVATOR
Him: ACCELRATOR

Whatever. He gets the idea. Me, I'm still in the dark about this tambor tambol tamborg tampon tanbork. I'll report back if I figure it out. Your guesses are welcome.

Daddy's girl

Fiorella is on vacation this week so instead of scrambling to find a fill-in for my daughter for the three days I work, my husband decided to take time off to spend with her at home. So for the last three days I've come home from work and he's had her strapped to him in some capacity while he's making dinner and our son is "helping". It's so great to see him so in love. When our daughter was born and up until basically a few weeks ago (she's nearly seven months old) she wouldn't stand to be held by anyone but me. She shreiked everytime my husband picked her up. I can only imagine that was frustrating for him though he never mentioned it, only that he wished he could help me more by holding her. Alas, baby girl wanted to be as close as possible to the milk source.

But to see her with him these last few days and to here the stories of blissful, shriek-free days together, it's as though the last six months never transpired. Baby and aba are in love. She still whimpers for me when I come in the room and reaches for me when I'm close enough, but when it's just the two of them, each is what the other needs and nothing more. What a gift.

Potty chronicles continued

Just when we thought we were in the clear, our son has begun to have accidents again. A friend of mine told me to expect this but we were hopeful. And foolish. I made the mistake of putting my son in his underwear at night. He'd been dry at night for nearly a month so I thought, what the hell, right? Better if he's in underwear. He'd started waking me up at night to take him to go pee because he couldn't get his diaper off and on again. In his underwear he's a free agent. Fully independent. Pees standing up like the big boys.

We did it one night. Success. Second night aba put him to bed and unaware of my latest decision, put him in a diaper. Third night, back to undies.

Right around 5am he comes padding into the guest room (I'm sleeping there while we sleep train our daughter) holding a pair of socks and wearing only his pajama top. He gets really close to my head and whispers, I made a pee pee on the carpet (he sleeps on the floor - that's a whole other post).

Apparently it woke him up, he stripped down, went to the closet and grabbed for the only clothing he can reach which are his socks and came to me for help with rest. I was so impressed by his efforts I totally forgot about the reason for them.

Then the next day he peed in his pants twice. Just plain forgot to go on the toilet. What is that? That never happens to ME. I realize he's new at this but I mean once you learn a concept how do you forget just like that? When I learned how to drive a manual shift, it took a few days but then I got it. A month later I didn't suddenly forget how to put in the clutch?! I did back the car into a gas pump three days after getting my license however. I guess we all have accidents.

Careful what you kvetch for

I finally got my son to wear short pajamas. It took an entire summer of sweaty nights but he finally relented and agreed to wear his winnie the pooh pajamas with the red shorts and the big pooh face on the yellow tee. Super cute.

The next morning he woke up with nine mosquito bites in and around his neck and arms, including one the size of a quarter in his armpit. Poor kid. Damn those short sleeves!

The next night he was trying to go to sleep and tossing around, scratching himself scabby. I dabbed him so much he looked like he'd been dipped in a vat of calamine lotion. No relief. So after much whining and contorting to get that itch in the middle of his back, I whispered in his ear do you want your sleeves?

Big grin.

Toddler: 40
Mommy: Love