And You Are...?

After living with an incredibly (I mean INCREDIBLY) verbal little girl for the past few years, I was warned to not expect such verbosity from the dude as it is apparently not in their natures to begin prattling on about everything they see as soon as they can string a couple of syllables together.  Therefore, I did not panic when he began uttering something very similar to da-da a few months ago.  I didn't get real upset when he began grunting EH-EE everytime his sister took yet another toddler toy away from him.  I even bragged about his prolific use of the word "ball" and his insistence on loudly and repeatedly indentifying every spherical object as a "ball" whenever one came into sight and shouting "ball" whenever one needed to be had right then and there--which is always.

So what that he hasn't said mama yet?  "M" is a hard letter to form; I mean much more difficult than a stupid "D" or "B".  Plus, why does he need to say it?  I pick him up before he really feels the need to get my attention anyway.  I mean, the "M" will come to him and then I won't get him to stop saying "mama", right?  Of course, he could decide instead to learn a few other words...like, maybe, Max.  Yeah, that's right.  Instead of saying "mama", instead of recognizing the woman that gave birth to you, dotes on you, changes your diapers and makes sure you have a never ending supply of sippy cup cocktails and chocolate goldfish crackers, maybe it'd be good to start talking to the freaking dog whose name sounds a whole lot like "ma" except with a freaking X on the end.  AN X!!!! Let's call for him first thing in the morning.  Maybe bang on the back door to get his attention and say his name over and over again.  Or even call him over to feed him a few of those crackers that woman whose name you forget keeps bringing you.  When she tries to get you to say "mama" for the bazillionth time just act like you don't hear her...she'll go away, or maybe she'll get you some more milk.

Or, what would be awesome would be to grab her dress sleeve while sitting at the restaurant after church on Sunday and tug really hard to get her attention, and when she turns to see what you want this time just grin and say "MAMA."

 

Are Sneaky Snakes Fundamentally Evil? Discuss.

Theological conversation as we are heading to school this morning:

E: Do we know any bad people?

Me: What do you mean?

E: I mean, do we know any people that are mean to other people or hurt other people?

Me: We make it a rule not to be friends with bad people.

E: (30 second pause)...We're friends with Mr. Darrell.

Me: (What I wanted to say) Touché.
(What I actually said) You think Mr. Darrell is bad?

E: He's a sneaky snake and he steals my french fries. He's been stealing my french fries for a long time and I know this because I remember him stealing my french fries when I was just a baby and I don't remember anything else from when I was a baby, but I remember that because he IS STILL STEALING MY FRENCH FRIES!

Me: So him stealing your french fries makes him bad?

E: Jesus said not to take things from other people, and all those french fries were mine and he took them. But, I don't think Jesus had french fries, so maybe he didn't mean you couldn't take french fries, and even if he did I don't think Mr. Darrell can help it. I think he just has to be a sneaky snake because he doesn't know any better. Like when Harry does something wrong and you tell me he can't get in trouble because he's too little and he doesn't know any better. If someone does something that's bad but they don't know any better then they can't get in trouble, so maybe sneaky snakes aren't bad, they're just sneaky because they can't help it.

Me: Yep.

Personally, I'm way more impressed with the sneaky snake capacity argument than the Chewbacca defense.

Even Bowheads Play Soccer...Sort of

Our first soccer season has come to a close, and in true 21st century fashion, everyone got a trophy, even those teammates that spent more time sobbing uncontrollably on the bench than actually playing soccer. And, it's not just any trophy, mind you, but a trophy engraved with each player's name sporting a squishy, rotating soccer ball dead center. See for yourselves:

That would be Ellie and BFF Mary Riley. For those of you not up on your anagrams/text message coding (I'm looking at you Grandpa), BFF means Best Friend Forever, although "forever" is a little strong as that best friend title can be stripped at anytime for offenses such as boyfriend stealing, inappropriate sharing skills, lunch table snubbing, and general "she's being mean to me" behavior. And, before you have to ask, bows are indeed part of the uniform. The bigger the better; therefore, Ellie wins, even though Mary Riley scored far more goals this season. Of course, it isn't hard to score more than zero*, but we learned early on that the game was a success if Ellie actually kicked the ball as opposed to merely twirling in circles somewhere near the goal. We got a recount of the actual "kicks" after every match, and by the end she was up to five an outing! Woo hoo! Most "playing time" was spent like this:

Nothing is more important than comparing monkey bar injuries, right? "Hey, 5...7... there's a soccer match going on behind you!" And by "match" I actually mean "magnet ball," wherein a mass of 3 and 4 year olds converge pell mell on one unsuspecting soccer ball en masse and proceed to kick the crap out of it in no discernible direction; ankles, shins, and field twirlers be darned.

In any event, Ellie was the recipient of the MVCP trophy, (Most Valuable Clover Picker, preferably done at mid-field while the rest of the game is raging on around you). All in all, worthy of the excellent naked dog from the Varsity lunch truck and an hour long romp in the bounce house. Go Red Rhinos!

*In all seriousness, MR kicked butt and seemed to at least understand that the goal was to, well, score a GOAL--no points deducted for scoring on your own goalie.

Ehhee, da-DEE and Whatshername

Blindside is talking. Well, more like pointing and grunting, but if you listen really, really hard and turn your head slightly to the left, the grunts become words. First thing in the morning Harry points at the stairs and grunts "da-DEE" (his voice is very deep which is unnerving after listening to Ellie's staccato vocals for three years). My guess is he mastered this particular skill set because Wes is head-breakfast-maker and chief-sippy-cup-filler, and is always downstairs fulfilling said duties when the chunky monkey wakes up. Combine this with the fact that I've been trying to teach him "Daddy" since he was four weeks old, as should every mother who would rather their child screech "DAAAAAA-DEEEEE" at four a.m. as opposed to the alternative, and I guess I shouldn't have my feelings hurt that the letter "m" is a nonexistent part of his guttural language.

Of course, he picked up sissy's name much quicker than that. On a whim earlier this week I pointed at Ellie and asked him "who's that?" He points and grunts. I say "that's Ellie." Immediately he says "Ehhee, Ehhee, Ehhee, Ehhee"! At first it was just excited recognition, now he's got the intonation down. For example, this morning Ellie pushes him out of the way to play his piano. He grunts, slams his hands down on the keyboard, shouts "EHHEEE" in his Meanest Joe Greenest voice and shoves it away from her. She starts crying, pulls it back, he starts wailing, mass hysteria, cats and dogs living together, and I finish drying my hair. Where's the mute button?

The Birds and the Bees and Cowgirl Boots

Conversation with Ellie du jour for your reading pleasure--

Me: Ellie, you need to stop drawing and let’s get dressed. We’re going to be late.
Ellie: But mommy, I need to finish this picture. It’s VERY important (super serious face)
Me: You can finish it this afternoon, let’s go.
Ellie: Uh, but mommy, I have to take it to school TODAY. It’s for my (wait for it) boyfriend!
Me: (30 second pause where we stare at each other)
Me: What’s a boyfriend?
Ellie: You know, a friend, but not like a friend that’s a girl.
Me: How is a boyfriend different than a girlfriend?
Ellie: Mommy, girls can’t have GIRLFRIENDS, they have friends that are girls.
Me: Ok, well how is a boyfriend different from that?
Ellie: They don’t wear bows in their hair.
Me: (whew, I can handle that) Ok, let’s put your picture in your bag, and….
Ellie: Oh, and I LOVE Nicholas; I only LIKE my friends that are girls.
Me: (crap)

She tells me in the car that she is sooooo happy she's wearing her cowboy boots because Nicholas really likes them. I've asked Wes to have a "chat" with this Nicholas during pick-up this afternoon.

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's Super Harry!

It's ok. He's completely safe. I swear.

Did you Get All That, Because I'm not Going to Ask you Again?

I will not lie. As I check off the "agenda" in the church bulletin every Sunday I get more and more anxious as we draw closer and closer to Children's Church. I am not at all convinced that Ellie is going to dutifully walk down the aisle, sit on the alter steps, listen to the sermon, then proceed back to her classroom in an orderly fashion. She's done pretty good so far, very little in the way of outbursts, but still....

Enter Haiti. Late last week we received an email from one of our ministers requesting that we get our children involved in the Haitian relief effort. We were to explain what was going on in an age appropriate manner, discuss monetary support (i.e. how much of your piggy bank money are you willing to part with, in Ellie's case, $4 in quarters and a dollar bill, not bad, although she kept the twenty), and consider making a Health Kit. We worked on it. Made the kit. Discussed how much mommy and daddy were giving. The works. She stuns me on Saturday night when she asks if we can "pray to God about Haiti." She asks him to help them get their houses back and make them better if they got crushed. Very impressed.

Then comes Sunday morning. The minister tells them that a big tractor trailer is coming to Georgia to pick up the Health Kits. Suddenly I hear a familiar high pitched voice: "GEORGIA???!!!?! I LIVE IN GEORGIA." Mind you, I'm on the second to the last row, Marietta First United Methodist. She was loud. Yes, the minister says, I live in Georgia too, isn't that neat? What happened next I learned after the fact from a friend sitting close to the front.

The minister says "let's pray for the people of Haiti and the workers helping them." Ellie looks over at her friend on her left and says, "I don't need to do this. I prayed to God last night. Y'all go ahead though." Apparently the four front pews were shaking in hysterics. Ellie proceeds to hum "Alice the Camel" through the prayer and then skitters back to class.