The Mouths Of Babes

Three funny things Beck has said to me lately:

While walking through Costco, I asked my kids what they wanted to be for Halloween. Very loudly Beck shouted, "I want to be a PRINCESS!!!" Three or four people near me laughed while trying to look like they weren't laughing. It didn't make me feel any better when Daphne followed up with "I want to be a Tiger." Don't these kids get gender rolls???

Today Beck said, inexplicably, "Mom, I wish my poop was RED." No idea why. Really, I can't imagine.

Later, I asked Beck how he thought food was getting to the baby in my tummy. He looked at me for a minute, then making his little fingers into a pointing shape, he traced a line from my mouth down to my stomach (and I thought he was being so clever) then up my side, down my arm and finally up to my ear. Close, buddy, close.

School Daze

Ladies and Gentlemen,

May I present to you

A KINDERGARTENER

AND

A PRESCHOOLER!!!

Seriously, how did I get to this point???? My babies are all grown up. Sniff...

But I have to tell you the absolute most adorable thing Beck said to me when I told him it was his first day of school today. He pumped his fist in the air and shouted, "I'm going to LEARN!!!"

That's my boy.

Best Friends

Ever since Daphne was a tiny toddler, she has always loved toys. As early as she could carry things, she always had several toys clutched in her hands as she wobbled around. As she got older, things didn't change. She still carried a favorite Polly Pocket, mini My Little Pony, or Littlest Petshop around with her. But she added stuffed animals to the list of favorite toys, so that for 5-6 days after she received a new toy, you could count on it being in her hands at all times, slept with, dragged with her everywhere she went.

Beck, on the other hand, has never been into toys. He had a brief obsession with trains around 18 months, but within a month of receiving an awesome train set, he was over it. And that's the only time he has played with toys. We keep buying him really fun stuff, but he only takes a slight interest in it. No stuffed animals, play figures, or vehicles have ever caught his attention.

Until about six months ago. And then, for some reason we can't explain, he fell in love with a ratty, half-empty, red velour teddy bear my mother had bought at Goodwill the previous year. For Daphne. All of the sudden we found Beck demanding to sleep with Red Teddy, carrying Red Teddy around by his long, saggy leg, telling me that Red Teddy was hungry or sleepy or needed to go potty. Red Teddy became his best friend. His only friend. The only toy that boy has ever loved.

And it makes his sister crazy that she can't have it. I've explained to her over and over that Red Teddy is Beck's now. She can't have him. (She never cared for him at all before Beck wanted him). But every night when I tuck her into bed, she asks for Red Teddy and offers up a toy or animal of hers in exchange. But my answer is always the same. No, Red Teddy is Beck's special friend and he can never be hers again.

I mean, how could you ever separate these two??

Genetics

Looks like I'm not the only one who likes to read in the bathroom.







Daily Weight Loss: +1.0 lbs
Total Weight Loss: 7.2 lbs

Super Hero

Beck is the kind of kid you'd call "mellow." It's another word for "not very motivated." In his 3 years, he has never tried to jump out of his crib. He's always been just fine hanging out in there until we come and get him. He has never tried to get out of his seat belt. He's cool waiting until we get to him. He's just the type of kid who seems fine with whatever. So I just assumed potty training him would be hard. He'd never requested big boy underwear, or expressed dismay at being "a baby" or seemed in any way interested in behaving like older kids. He seemed satisfied being Baby Beck forever.

And then, two weeks ago, Beck came to me one day and said, "Mommy, I want to wear big boy underwear." Oh, sure, I thought. But I had a couple of pairs I'd bought six months earlier when I was in a serious state of denial about his likelihood to be potty trained at 2 1/2. So I put them on him and waited for the inevitable urine.

One hour later, still dry, Beck came to me and said, "Mommy, I think I need to go potty." Oh sure, I thought. I know this story. We go and sit you on the potty and exactly nothing happens. Then we put your diaper back on. But this time, to my surprise, he sat down, pointed his wang down, and peed! I couldn't believe it. But still being a doubting Thompson, I figured it was a one time deal. A fluke. Well, that was 2 weeks ago and he's never gone back. Underwear every day, potty whenever he feels like he needs to go. No accidents, no reminders, no cajoling. There were a few Rolos involved, just for good measure. But I don't think he would have needed them. The kid had decided it was time, and IT WAS TIME.

And that is why Beck is my super hero.


p.s. A week later, Beck also decided that he no longer wanted to wear a diaper at night and would be using the toilet at night from then on. I am currently sewing him his cape and tights. And I think I'll put a giant P on his chest. Hahaha, Get it??

Three

Someone is super smart.

Someone is very musically talented.

Someone has no interest in potty training. AT ALL.

Someone loves to throw his food on the floor if he doesn't like the look of it.

Someone laughs a lot.

Someone would rather have his cupcakes WITHOUT frosting.

Someone might not be related to me.

Someone gets in his crib to suck his binkies but can't get out.

Someone is probably too old for binkies.

Someone will probably be getting a visit from the Binkie Fairy soon.

Someone has perfect pitch. (When I ask him to sing middle C, he does so right on key!)

Someone taught himself all the letters, sounds, and numbers with no help.

Someone has a dimple in his cheek.

Someone loves to steal my gum.

Someone usually has an iPhone in his hand.

Someone has a gigantic head.

Someone loves to cuddle.

Someone loves cereal more than any other food.

Someone was two years old yesterday.

But that someone is three today.

Happy Birthday, my sweet sweet Beck. We love you so much.

Junkie

Like everyone with his affliction, he is so consumed that his only option is to hide himself away so that others cannot see the lengths he will go to to get his fix. His embarrassment and shame forces him to conceal himself in dark corners. He can't get enough. It's all he can think about, day and night. He is an addict.






(That's an iPhone, in case you can't see it well enough.)

Doctors Are Always Right

About six weeks ago, I took Beck to the doctor because he said his ear hurt. He was on the tail end of a wicked, 3-week cold. He had nasty green mucus that wouldn't seem to go away and he wasn't sleeping or eating well.

Sure enough, he had a double ear infection. One side was so bad, the doctor said, that it would for sure rupture that night. (It didn't.) He also said that once kids were old enough to talk and say that their ears hurt, he'd never seen a case of a kid being wrong about their ear pain--it always turned out to be an ear infection.

So when Beck woke up this morning after 4-5 days of being sick, having swollen goobery eyes, a runny nose, and a bad cough, and said that his ear hurt, I took him to the doctor again. But guess what? No ear infection. Both ears looked just fine. Wrong again, Doc.

However, he was sick. Nothing big....

JUST PINK EYE AND PNEUMONIA!!!

Poor kid. I'm glad I took him in. He's now on antibiotics of two sorts and will hopefully be on the mend soon.

But you may not want to come anywhere near our house for a while. Unless you're bringing get-well soup. Or get-well balloons. Or get-well cream-cheese brownies. In which case, swath yourself in sterile gauze, surgical masks, and latex gloves and come right on over! Nothing cheers up pneumonia like cream-cheese brownies. At least that's what the doctor said. And, you know, the doctor is always right.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Leave The Markers Out

There must be something in the air in July. Because this time last year this happened:



Only last year the artist was Daphne. Beck has never really been one for drawing, thank goodness...

Until now:



He even remembered to get the back of his neck. Lovely.
And although I can appreciate the more complex design and use of color compared to last year's masterpiece, I think the markers are all going to be sentenced to marker jail for a few more months.


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The Mouths of Babes

Yesterday we took the kids to Maggie Moos. If you don't know what Maggie Moos is, it's like Cold Stone, but for kids. If you don't know what Cold Stone is, it's like Marble Slab, but in Utah. If you don't know what Marble Slab or Cold Stone are, you are probably a lot skinnier than me.

ANYWAY, we were walking into the store, and a few young girls, late teens-ish, were sitting in the outside patio area by the door enjoying their ice cream. Just as we were passing by, Beck turns to one of them and says, "'Scuse me. I burped." They couldn't stop laughing. Hey, at least he said excuse me!

Then, inside, there was a case full of ice cream and a counter covered with candies of all kinds and fruits and things to be mixed in. I asked Daphne what she wanted. Peanut butter ice cream with snow caps mixed in. I asked Beck what he wanted. "Mint" he said. "Mint with what?" I asked. "Mint!" he told me. "Mint with what?" I asked again. "Oreos? M&M's? Chocolate chips?" He said, "Mint!" I thought maybe he didn't understand. But then I asked him one more time, "Mint AND WHAT?" and he explained, in the best way he could think of in his 2 1/2 year old mind, "Mint, Mommy. No snacks."

I love it.

Adventures In Sugar

Two days ago Beck figured out how to get onto and off of the bar stools in at the kitchen island. Since that time, he has gotten very well acquainted with the mechanics of the sugar shaker...

First there was the Great Toast Adventure


And then 30 minutes after I refilled the sugar shaker, there was the Filter Fiasco.
Let me give you a play by play of how it went down.
Step 1) Open the Brita Pitcher. Step 2) Dump the entire sugar shaker into the reservoir. Step 3)Sprinkle the sugar pile with pepper, for added aesthetic appeal.







I'm not sure how good the Brita filter is at filtering out 3/4 cup of sugar granules. It isn't a feature listed in the booklet. So....no?


I hope this doesn't mean that I'm going to have to start keeping everything we own on top of the refrigerator. It's going to get very crowded up there.

Let It Rain

Look at these adorable rain galoshes I got off ebay....




And look who I found strutting around in them....



I'm saving that one for the wedding video.

Korn Meets Maria Von Trapp

Ever heard of the Cookie Monster Rock? If so, you'll appreciate this version of Do Re Mi sung by Beck. He knows all the words. But today I guess he just felt like he needed to get a little aggression out:

(Not to be missed, Daphne realizing she's not getting any attention and running around and around the table humming and laughing and being obnoxious. You can just see the top of her head as she bounces past).

The Mouths of Babes

In church today, Beck was playing with a tube of little plastic marine animals. He likes to dump them all out on the pew, then put them back in, one at a time, naming each one. Sea staw. Shawk. Sting way. Dafin. Hammahead. Occasionally he gets to one that he can't remember. On this occasion, he looked trustingly up at Big Daddy, waiting for a hint. "Humpback whale," Big Daddy told him as Beck dropped a sperm whale into the tube. "That's not a Humpback," I whispered over Beck's head. Big Daddy shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes as if to say, "Drop it, Cousteau." Tootle. Shamu whale. Eel. He stopped again and looked up at Big Daddy with an actual humpback whale in his hand. "Humpback whale," Big Daddy told him. Beck paused for a moment with a mix of confusion and determination on his face. He fished the other whale out of the tube and held it up next to the new whale. "That not humpback. THIS humpback," he said. Well put, Beck. As Big Daddy's eyes met mine over Beck's head, I looked back at him with a look that said, "Just call me Jacques."

I'm the Worst Mommy Ever

It's three days past my son's birthday. No four. And he hasn't had a party. Or opened presents. Or eaten cake. Or blown out his candles. He doesn't even know he just turned two. Except that I told him on that day, "Beck, you're two!" After which he said, "One, two, cinco!" so I don't think he got it. He did look kind of intrigued for a second when I also said, "Happy Birthday!" But the concept of a birthday is very abstract for him also. Yesterday I gave him a toothpick hoping to inspire him to eat some of his hot dogs. He speared one slice of hot dog, turned it over, looked at it for a minute and cheerfully exclaimed, "Ha Birday!" Sure, a ring of hot dog with a toothpick sticking out DOES sort of resemble a cake with a candle, but still, I don't think he quite gets it. That should probaly relieve some of my guilt. But it doesn't. Becuase I know that we have skipped his birthday. It wasn't intentional. First, I decided to take on a party the night of his birthday. I didn't figure he'd care since he'd be in bed already. And since we were planning on doing a family party for him the next day. But then he got super sick. Sick like he had shiners of sickness under his weeping eyes, heat rash on his face from his fever, an ear infection, a congested cough, and he turned down all food including cake. CAKE, people! So then I had to text the whole family (I love how technology allows me to get the dirty work down without the details) to let them know that his birthday was postponed. And then once I did that, the joy of not having to scour my house and create an amazing, whimsical train cake from scratch, and the loss of guilt from not having found him the present I wanted to get him in time, made me realize that I really didn't want to throw him a party. He would never know. And Christmas is in 2 1/2 weeks anyway. He'll get plenty of presents then, right? Plus, I'm suffering from a big of relative/money/codependency anger anyway. Not the best disposition for a hostess.

But then the blessing of Mother-Shame descended on me. First of all, you can't skip your child's birthday, even if he's only turning two. Someday he'll look back at his photo album and wonder why there weren't any pictures from his second birthday. And then you'll have to lie and say that the camera was dead that day. Or you'll have to do some quick photoshop work and swap his head with his sister's from her 2nd birthday party and hope he doesn't notice her dress on him. No, better to avoid that route altogether. Also, you can't skip your child's birthday when his birthday is in December. Because then you turn into one of those horrible Scroogy parents who thinks they can get away with one present that counts for the child's birthday and Christmas just because they were unfortunate enough to be born in December. I always swore I'd never do that. But the biggest reason I cannot blow off Beck's birthday is because he is the second child. The notoriously ignored, forgotten, undocumented second child. I am that child also. And so is my husband. Granted, we both turned out awesome. But usually that child is a total screw up. So we both always swore we'd never neglect our second child like every other second child in history was neglected. We swore to make it a goal to give him everything we gave his older sister--the attention, the official documentation at major life events, and the new clothing and toys. Well, we have already failed on some of that. Especially the new toys. And the attention. And the documention at official life events. But he does get new clothes! Pink isn't really his color anyway.

So, now to get back to the planning the birthday party. It's tomorrow. I've texted the family to re-invie them. I've bought the birthday chip cake and small sacks of candy to fill up the cargo cars on the train cake I am going to make. I've scrubbed all the red towel lint out from behind the pedestal sinks in the main bathroom. (Ok, that's a lie. I never do that. It will be there when I die. But I have wiped off the kitchen counter tops. So cut me some slack. OK?) I have ordered the present I wanted to get him...EXPRESS MAIL (Ack! do you know the shipping on that???), so it will get here in time. He is all doped up on Benedryl, Dimatap, Amoxacillan, and Falcon Eye Drops. I'm ready. Is there anything I've forgotten to do? Oh yeah. Change the date on the camera.

Beck's First Love

The other day while Tiburon and I were gabbing away over our Cafe Rio birthday food, Beck had his first kiss. From A GIRL. ON THE LIPS. I know he seems a bit young, but it's never too early to hone your kissing skills, I think. Here is the lucky lady. And isn't she a doll?



And their mothers aren't too shabby either, right?

I Have a Two Year Old

His Name is Beck.

He was born 2 years ago today, at 1pm after a very long night of waiting for him to come.

He has a dimple in his right cheek that makes me swoon whenever he smiles.

He's obsessed with trains and walks around the house saying "All Aboard!" all day.

He's a very good singer and remembers the words to almost every song.

He is very talented at finding open cupboards and relieving them of their contents.

He is sweet and loving and mostly good.

Before I had Beck, I didn't know if I could love a boy. Does that sound crazy? Well, I really only wanted girls. Now he is the love of my life. My sweetest joy. The love of my life. Did I just say that? I guess I it must be true. Either that or I shouldn't try to type while watching TV.

Have a wonderful birthday, Bubba!

Anatomy 101

I've been teaching Beck the word "nuts." As in, "Where are your nuts, Beck?" He always points to his elbows. I guess we need to work a little more on that one.


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