I'm King of the World!

Yogi has figured out how to get himself onto the couch.  Watch out Ugly Dolls!!!

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Dia-Pa!

In addition to all the rest of his chattering, Yogi now announces his own bowel movements.

I’m not kidding.

Is this normal?  Now instead of just pausing for a moment and making the potty face, he says “Dia-pa, Dia-pa”.  I’m thinking this is a step forward in the potty training readiness department, right?  Isn’t demonstrating awareness that you know what’s going on with your body one of the signs?  

So.... what now?  He’s 18 months old.  Do we start talking about the potty?  Is it too soon?

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Repeat Play

It is very loud at my house these days.  It is impossible to get a word in when Yogi is around and of course, Yogi is always around.  He is either babbling or chanting one word over and over and over and over.  That word is either something he wants right.this.minute:

Crack-a (Graham Cracker)

Milk

Ga-Ga (Water - I have no idea how this developed)

Choo-Choo

or a word that he’s picked out of whatever you just said.  If I say “Let’s go downstairs and let Baker out”, he says “Bak-a, Bak-a” for the next twenty minutes.  This is only a slight exaggeration.

Most of the time it’s adorable, but sometimes it feels like a punishment for my own abuse of the repeat play function.  I’m one of those people who falls in love with a book/song/movie and wants to read/listen/watch it over and over.  And over.  My freshman college room mate threatened to break my Counting Crows CD into a million pieces after one too many Anna Begins.  

So, I understand the impulse.  When you’re really into something it’s hard not to just turn it over and over in your hands. But sometimes it’s also nice to have a little quiet time.  Just a little.

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At the Carwash

A few weeks back I discovered something wonderful.  Yogi LOVES the car wash!  He has accompanied me on every trip I’ve made to this place since he was born, but on our last visit something clicked. 

Hey, there are CARS here!  Everywhere you look!  CARS!!!!

This is one of those big places where you get out of your car and they vacuum it, drive it through the swishy washing part and you get back in it on the other side.  There are always lots of other cars here and you have to wait a bit, but the prices are reasonable and they do a good job.  

Yogi’s excitement started the moment I got him out of his carseat.  The pointer finger sprang into action and he was immediately pointing at every single car he could see shouting Car! (which sounds like Cah - kind of a Boston feel) at the top of his voice.  It’s a good thing we were outside most of the time.

When I finally agreed to put him down so that he could walk, he was going full tilt.  Pointing and shouting like he had never seen anything so wonderful.  The place was crowded which gave him the opportunity to point out cars to all sorts of people.  He ran around like a wild man with a look on his face that seemed to say:

Can you believe this?  There are cars everywhere and I’m not going to let you miss even one.  

Luckily, the other customers seemed to enjoy his excitement and so I let him roam (pretty much) free.  There was one guy who looked about my age who seemed to find him particularly entertaining and so I said something to him like, I guess seeing all these cars is pretty exciting.  He responded with You know, I STILL feel the very same way.

It was such a sweet moment.  This is another reason why having kids is such an enriching experience.  Kids are so genuinely themselves that they remind us what it is to be entirely open to each moment.  Sometimes when we’re lucky enough to be looking at just the right angle, we can see in them, a little bit of ourselves.

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Reading in a Dump Truck

I'm enjoying my Sunday AM coffee shop date with myself, strolling back through recent posts when I noticed something.  Where is Yogi?  I haven't posted a picture of the boy in entirely too long.  The larger problem is that I haven't taken a picture of the boy in way too long.  Bad Mama.  I spend quite a bit of time thinking about how he is growing up so fast and he's a different boy every day and yet..... I'm not taking pictures.  :(  Oh well.  Course correction ahead.

For now, here are some pictures I took recently with the phone on my camera.  Yogi's grandparents found this nifty little dump truck and he decided that it made the perfect reading nook.  Here he is "reading" one of his tiny board books.  Muzzie taught him how to put his face right into the center and chatter at top volume.  Yogi reads!!!

 

This is the "I've finished my book and now I can't get out of this thing" face.  Help!!!

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The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown

The Weird Sisters* by Eleanor Brown is a story of finding your way, growing up and getting on with it within the fabric of a family.  Rose, Bianca and Cordelia flew the nest years ago, but when their Mother is diagnosed with breast cancer they all return home to realize all the ways in which they never really left in the first place.  These women grabbed me from the prologue and I was drawn right into the center of their lives.  Each of the characters (not the least of which is Barnwell, the town in which the story unfolds) is richly and compassionately drawn.

 
This is Eleanor Brown.  From what I understand, The Weird Sisters is her first novel, but she's hard at work on another one.  (I found that out by reading her blog)  I'm hardly the first to notice, but this lady has a great voice.  One of my favorite things about the book is her choice to write in the first person plural.  It's a point-of-view that isn't often used and can be difficult to maintain over the course of an entire novel.  Some books that use this POV can be hard to follow (The Fates Will Find Their Way by Hannah Pittard is an example), but in The Weird Sisters, it absolutely works.  In fact, I think it works so well because the story requires it.  Instead of either hearing the voice of only one of the thee sisters or dividing the narrative into three distinct pieces, she merges each of their voices into one and the story just sings with it.


Has anyone else read this one?  I'd love to hear your thoughts.  If you want to find out more about the BlogHer Book Club head on over here and join in the conversation.


* I was compensated for this BlogHer Book Club review but all opinions are my own.

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The Nudists Next Door

This is clearly a departure from the typical flavor of this blog, but I can't keep it to myself (well, and my wife) any longer. 

My neighbors have no interest in either clothing or blinds and before you can ask, Nutella - I have no pictures but it DID happen.  It keeps happening.  And yes, I could stop looking but apparently I have no self control.

The back story on this is that the house next store is a rental property owned by a faculty member at the university who rents it out to graduate students.  I had spoken to him towards the end of last summer when he mentioned that our original neighbor (we moved in last March so she was the only one we knew) would be moving out and a couple with a dog would be taking her place.  "Nice people" he assured me.

Somehow in all the time they have lived here I have never seen them outside the house.  I'm not sure how this is even possible, but it's true.  I guess we keep different hours.  What I know for sure is that they like to prepare dinner at the same time that Yogi gets his bath.

I know this because a few months ago I was closing our blinds and noticed that there was a naked man cooking in the kitchen next door.  The whole thing was even weirder than you might imagine because of the relative angle of our windows.  From my upstairs vantage point I could see everything (and I do mean everything) but his head.  Now I don't think of myself as a peeping Tom,  but there is something about the fact that I knew for sure he couldn't see me and I couldn't really see him (at least not the important parts, but of course that is debatable) that allowed me to gaze a little longer than I might have otherwise.

I don't know if you've had this experience but it had the "just can't tear your eyes away" quality of a car wreck.  He was hardly a marvel of the human form, but watching someone chop vegetables while entirely naked is just something you don't see everyday.  At least not if you're me.

So the next door dinner routine has continued for months and practically feels like a part of bath time at my house. Sometimes it's her and sometimes it's him (I'm not sure why but they never seem to be in the kitchen at the same time),but it's almost always one of them.  I have never seen these people outside their house and I live in fear (this is only a tiny exaggeration) that I will run into them in the neighborhood.  I'm not sure if I've mentioned my Truth Tourette's (diagnosed by my wife), but if I see these people I don't know how I will keep from mentioning that I've seen them naked.  I think my only option is to run as fast as possible in the other direction.

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Yogi and the Fork

Although I miss the snuggly sweetness of mealtime when he was entirely milk-fed, Yogi with a fork has his own brand of charm.  And yes, I did say Yogi with a fork.  The times they are a changing.

The high chair with tray is waiting patiently in the basement for Monkey and Yogi now sits in the chair that we should have coughed up the money for in the beginning.  It pushes right up to the table and can easily adjust as he grows.  I initially balked at the price (and by balked I mean harassed my wife for the suggestion that we spend that kind of money on a chair for anyone, much less a baby), but now I think that if you can swing it, you'll be glad you did.  This is the chair and cushion that we chose.

Once we get him in the chair and push him up to the table, it's on.  As you all know, there were days when I wondered if he would ever eat food that didn't come through a bottle, but now he eats with gusto.  After reading lots of Montessori theory, we made the decision to forgo plastic kiddie type plates and utensils and Yogi eats on our plates (the small one for salads) and he does what he can with his fork and spoon.  We bought two sets (meaning we have two spoons and two forks) and we just wash them after each meal.  They look something like this when compared to a regular fork:

Most of what he eats is picked up with  his hands, but he plays/works with the fork at every meal.  He likes to pierce the occasional blueberry (bee-bee), cheese square (che) or black bean (bean) with his fork.  The chatter is fairly constant while he eats.  If he's not actually chewing and swallowing at.that.second, he's telling you about what's on his plate or the fact that a car is driving by (cahhh - sounds kind of like a Boston version of the word) or that Baker is coming down the stairs (dah).  The spoon seems to be less compelling, but he can use it fairly smoothly.  He's much better with it than the fork, but I think it's not as fun. 

Mealtime with Yogi can be a headache (Really Yogi?  Hand washing is not a torture technique), but it's also a lot of fun. 

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