A little interaction between our kids on Christmas eve reveals how much they've imbibed the Christmas spirit.
Susanna was explaining, "A boy said to me, 'Put that down, little girl!' I told him, 'Don't call me a little girl! I'm bigger than you.'"
"Was he in third grade?" I asked.
"No, he's in first grade," she replied, indignant.
At this point four-year-old Nate piped in with his advice: "Next time you see him, tell him, 'You want a piece of me?!' Then do something to him."
Nice to see all our hard work to instill Christian virtues of kindness and peacemaking is sinking in!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
Tongue Twisters
"Nathan, tell mommy the hard word you discovered yesterday!" I encouraged my son.
He responded eagerly. "Diff ceferticack."
"What?" asked Jen, confused.
"Sift derfissticate," he tried again. "Dist fersiffisate."
"He figured out it's hard to say 'Gift certificate,'" I translated diplomatically.
He grew weary of saying it after we had asked him to repeat it about ten times. So we turned to the two and a half year old. "Michael, can you say 'gift certificate?'"
Without batting an eye, he said, clear as a bell, "No." Open-and-shut case.
A minute later, Nathan disputed a slight exaggeration his mom had made. "You're my little littlerist!" she laughed.
I laughed, too. "What did you say?"
"Little littlelerist."
"Huh?" asked Nate.
I clarified for him: "Mommy's trying to say literalist. Little liratilist." We both laughed. "Wow, that is hard to say!"
"I'm saying it!" Jen insisted. "Little littlerist! See?" After you say it a few times, that starts sounding right. If you don't believe me, try it.
He responded eagerly. "Diff ceferticack."
"What?" asked Jen, confused.
"Sift derfissticate," he tried again. "Dist fersiffisate."
"He figured out it's hard to say 'Gift certificate,'" I translated diplomatically.
He grew weary of saying it after we had asked him to repeat it about ten times. So we turned to the two and a half year old. "Michael, can you say 'gift certificate?'"
Without batting an eye, he said, clear as a bell, "No." Open-and-shut case.
A minute later, Nathan disputed a slight exaggeration his mom had made. "You're my little littlerist!" she laughed.
I laughed, too. "What did you say?"
"Little littlelerist."
"Huh?" asked Nate.
I clarified for him: "Mommy's trying to say literalist. Little liratilist." We both laughed. "Wow, that is hard to say!"
"I'm saying it!" Jen insisted. "Little littlerist! See?" After you say it a few times, that starts sounding right. If you don't believe me, try it.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Timmas Tumming!
"Tismas whites! Tismas whites!" I heard a small excited voice call out from behind me as I drove.
Michael has been practicing for an important (if only seasonal) job. "Mo timmas whites!"
"Yes, there are more Christmas lights!" I agreed, as we passed another brightly lit house.
We turned a corner. "Uh-oh, no me see no mo timmas whites anywhewe!" No laxness here: the most conscientious color-commentators don't settle for merely highlighting the place which do have lights.
"Hey! Mo tismas whites!" Whew, situation resolved. We're back to normal. "Us have Tismas whites, Daddy? Us have Tismas whites?"
"Yes, we have Christmas lights." I respond, knowing he will continue to ask until he gets satisfaction.
I think he'll get the job. He'll do it, whether we ask him to or not. But I must say, I am enjoying the Christmas season more regularly and more thoroughly this year. Our children's enthusiasm is infectious. And I wuv dat.
Michael has been practicing for an important (if only seasonal) job. "Mo timmas whites!"
"Yes, there are more Christmas lights!" I agreed, as we passed another brightly lit house.
We turned a corner. "Uh-oh, no me see no mo timmas whites anywhewe!" No laxness here: the most conscientious color-commentators don't settle for merely highlighting the place which do have lights.
"Hey! Mo tismas whites!" Whew, situation resolved. We're back to normal. "Us have Tismas whites, Daddy? Us have Tismas whites?"
"Yes, we have Christmas lights." I respond, knowing he will continue to ask until he gets satisfaction.
I think he'll get the job. He'll do it, whether we ask him to or not. But I must say, I am enjoying the Christmas season more regularly and more thoroughly this year. Our children's enthusiasm is infectious. And I wuv dat.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
From the Wonder-What-They-Said Dept.
Michael's been stuffed up with a cold recently. The other morning he told his mom,
"Mommy, mine boogohs talking to me."
"Mommy, mine boogohs talking to me."
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Double Trouble
The day after his eye surgery, Nathan looked at me across the room. "Hey! There are two daddies!"
His mom, next to him, asked, "How many mommies do you see?"
He studied her for a minute. "One."
Just then Michael walked--okay, ran--into the room. "Hey! There's two Michaels! That's funny!" He started cracking up.
The next day the surgeon told us this was normal, until the brain was able to integrate the two images into one again. But Nathan enjoyed it while it lasted.
The next morning, he walked into the living room and surveyed his sister, sitting on the couch. "Hey, there's two Susannas, one on top of the other!"
She immediately began pummeling the air. "Hey, get off me! Get off me!"
A week later, he only sees one of each of us. Though I'm glad his vision's normal, I kind of miss being in two places at once.
His mom, next to him, asked, "How many mommies do you see?"
He studied her for a minute. "One."
Just then Michael walked--okay, ran--into the room. "Hey! There's two Michaels! That's funny!" He started cracking up.
The next day the surgeon told us this was normal, until the brain was able to integrate the two images into one again. But Nathan enjoyed it while it lasted.
The next morning, he walked into the living room and surveyed his sister, sitting on the couch. "Hey, there's two Susannas, one on top of the other!"
She immediately began pummeling the air. "Hey, get off me! Get off me!"
A week later, he only sees one of each of us. Though I'm glad his vision's normal, I kind of miss being in two places at once.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
You Can Count on Them
"Owwie! Me huwt mine sumb!"
"Oh, did you hurt your thumb, Michael?" asked Jen.
"Yes, me huwt mine baby sumb."
"Your baby thumb? What's your baby thumb?"
He held up his little finger.
"That's your baby thumb? What's this one?" Jen pointed to his thumb.
"Sumb."
"What's this one called?" She pointed to his index finger.
"Pinkie." Turns out he has three pinkies, between his thumb and his baby thumb! :-)
Have a very happy Thanksgiving! (And if you were worried, his baby thumb got better.)
"Oh, did you hurt your thumb, Michael?" asked Jen.
"Yes, me huwt mine baby sumb."
"Your baby thumb? What's your baby thumb?"
He held up his little finger.
"That's your baby thumb? What's this one?" Jen pointed to his thumb.
"Sumb."
"What's this one called?" She pointed to his index finger.
"Pinkie." Turns out he has three pinkies, between his thumb and his baby thumb! :-)
Have a very happy Thanksgiving! (And if you were worried, his baby thumb got better.)
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Toddler-English English-Toddler Dictionary
babas: n. a plastic container equipped with a nipple for feeding babies: do mine babas?
boo: adj. color between green and violet: da die is boo.
dandle: n. a cylinder or block of wax with a wick that is lit to produce light as it burns: me bwow out youse dandle.
dean: adj. free from dirt, marks, or stains. v. make something or someone free from dirt or mess by washing or wiping: mine boo babas dean?
die: n. the region of the atmosphere and outer space seen from the earth: me see moon up in die.
debt (det): v. acquire, come to have or hold something: Mama debt dandle?
do (doe): v. move from one place to another. Often used as an abbreviated form of the question, "Where is": do mine hapa?
hapa: n. a round fruit of a tree of the rose family, usually with red, yellow or green skin and crisp flesh. May be used for dessert, cooking fruit, or making cider: me want hapa.
nap: n. an opaque white drink rich in fat and protein produced by cows and other female mammals: dadda debt mo nap?
peas: adv. used in polite requests or questions: peas debt me mine nigh-night; used to add urgency and emotion to a request: mine nigh-night peas! mine nigh-night peas!
tease: n. a dairy food made from the pressed curds of milk: me want mo tease peas.
verbal: n. a car with a folding or detachable roof: me see verbal!
who: n. a vehicle carrying firefighters and equipment for fighting fires. Makes the sound "whoooo!": mama set up mine who, peas?
Thursday, November 15, 2007
"Daddy, today we made Challah!" Nathan exclaimed when I picked him up from preschool. Their class at the Jewish preschool was focusing on Shabbat (the sabbath) for the week, and the kids actually got to make Challah, the special braided Shabbat bread. Picturing a roomful of 12 squirrelly 4-year-old bakers, I had to smile.
He continued. "I have a good idea. Maybe we can make Challah at home!"
"I don't know how," I said.
"First, we have to have ingredients," he said.
"That sounds right to me," I said, still dubious.
"Yup. You make it with ingredients." Then he fell silent, and I assumed the case was closed. An open-and-shut deal. But after a minute, he piped up from the back seat and surprised me.
"First we take sugar and hot water," he said. "You can't eat the sugar. If you eat it, then you can't make Challah."
"Okay," I went along with it for the sake of argument.
"Then you need eggs and flour and salt, and oil. You mix it together until it gets real hard." Unbidden, into my mind popped a picture of something like a hard-dried lump of pale play-dough.
"Then you pound it and pound it and pound it." Tables of squirrelly preschoolers pounding their lumps of dough.
"Then you braid it. You have to put it over and through, over and through, over and through." I was following him.
"Then you have to leave it to rise until tomorrow."
I was quite impressed at the effectiveness of the preschool's teaching! If we'd followed his recipe, the lack of yeast would have sabotaged us, but otherwise it seemed like my 4-year-old had actually learned how to make bread. Our whole family enjoyed the loaf he brought home the next day, and I was even more impressed. It was excellent. Now if only he could internalize and follow directions for using the bathroom that well . . .
He continued. "I have a good idea. Maybe we can make Challah at home!"
"I don't know how," I said.
"First, we have to have ingredients," he said.
"That sounds right to me," I said, still dubious.
"Yup. You make it with ingredients." Then he fell silent, and I assumed the case was closed. An open-and-shut deal. But after a minute, he piped up from the back seat and surprised me.
"First we take sugar and hot water," he said. "You can't eat the sugar. If you eat it, then you can't make Challah."
"Okay," I went along with it for the sake of argument.
"Then you need eggs and flour and salt, and oil. You mix it together until it gets real hard." Unbidden, into my mind popped a picture of something like a hard-dried lump of pale play-dough.
"Then you pound it and pound it and pound it." Tables of squirrelly preschoolers pounding their lumps of dough.
"Then you braid it. You have to put it over and through, over and through, over and through." I was following him.
"Then you have to leave it to rise until tomorrow."
I was quite impressed at the effectiveness of the preschool's teaching! If we'd followed his recipe, the lack of yeast would have sabotaged us, but otherwise it seemed like my 4-year-old had actually learned how to make bread. Our whole family enjoyed the loaf he brought home the next day, and I was even more impressed. It was excellent. Now if only he could internalize and follow directions for using the bathroom that well . . .
Monday, November 12, 2007
Peanut Gallery
Today in the car Michael yelled out (and I do mean yelled--this boy has lungs!) "Vewdiva!"
Hmm?
"Vewdiva!" "Duza!" "Duza!" "Bug!"
Oh . . . he's joined the game! Convertible, Cruiser, Bug!
Hmm?
"Vewdiva!" "Duza!" "Duza!" "Bug!"
Oh . . . he's joined the game! Convertible, Cruiser, Bug!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Alter Ego
Last week when I posted the costume photos, Nathan asked me not to put the pictures of him on the computer.
This week he released the rights to it, or at least granted his permission--so here they are. (Click them to see larger size.)
This week he released the rights to it, or at least granted his permission--so here they are. (Click them to see larger size.)
How's that again?
Our family's become expert at spotting VW bugs, PT Cruisers, and convertibles in the past month, after Susanna's friend Abby taught her the game. Every conversation in the car is now punctuated with comments such as "Cruiser!" or "I saw it first!" "No you didn't!" and so on. It's very relaxing.
Nathan's 4-year-old contribution has been to call out "Bug!" or "convertible" with no reference to reality.
But on the way to school the other morning, it dawned on him that the little yellow VW bug on our porch is the same as the bugs that his sister calls. So he made his first actual sighting.
"Yellow bug! I saw a yellow bug!"
"Good job, Nathan!" I encouraged him. Then he delivered the coup de grace,
"I know which one is not which one, and which one is which one."
Nathan's 4-year-old contribution has been to call out "Bug!" or "convertible" with no reference to reality.
But on the way to school the other morning, it dawned on him that the little yellow VW bug on our porch is the same as the bugs that his sister calls. So he made his first actual sighting.
"Yellow bug! I saw a yellow bug!"
"Good job, Nathan!" I encouraged him. Then he delivered the coup de grace,
"I know which one is not which one, and which one is which one."
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Toddlerese
Understanding each other is hard enough, even when we're face to face and can pick up facial expressions and body language, which psychologists say carry 60% of the communication.
When I'm driving, I'm deprived of that 60% because the 2-year-old sits right behind me. Not to mention that since I'm driving in L.A. 90% of my brain has to be devoted to the road . . .
Michael: Me wissen dum dah.
Me (thinking, Ooh, this should be easy. I already got the first two words!): You want to listen to something?
Michael: Uh-huh! Me wissen dum dah.
Me: You want to listen to . . . uh . . .
Michael: Me wissen dum dah!
Me: uh . . . do you want to listen to Finding Nemo?
Michael (amused at Daddy's typical silliness): No Nemo! Dum dah!
Me: Snow White?
Michael (with the tone of You idiot!): No, dum dah. Dum dah!
Michael (now irate): No! No! Dum dah! Dum dah!
Me (smart enough, at least, not to suggest Veggie Tales, which is "Dedgie" in Michael-speak, and deciding to switch strategies): Do you want to listen to a story?
Michael: No! Dum Dah!
Me: Do you want music?
Michael: Yeth! Dum dah!
Me (relieved that now it's just a process of elimination): Do you want Kirk Franklin?
Michael: No! Me wissen dum dah!
Me: Chris Tomlin?
Michael (in tears): No!
Me (the light dawning): Tim McGraw?
Michael: Yeth! Dum Dah! Dum Dah!
I've never been so ecstatic about putting the Tim McGraw cd in the player.
When I'm driving, I'm deprived of that 60% because the 2-year-old sits right behind me. Not to mention that since I'm driving in L.A. 90% of my brain has to be devoted to the road . . .
Michael: Me wissen dum dah.
Me (thinking, Ooh, this should be easy. I already got the first two words!): You want to listen to something?
Michael: Uh-huh! Me wissen dum dah.
Me: You want to listen to . . . uh . . .
Michael: Me wissen dum dah!
Me: uh . . . do you want to listen to Finding Nemo?
Michael (amused at Daddy's typical silliness): No Nemo! Dum dah!
Me: Snow White?
Michael (with the tone of You idiot!): No, dum dah. Dum dah!
Michael (now irate): No! No! Dum dah! Dum dah!
Me (smart enough, at least, not to suggest Veggie Tales, which is "Dedgie" in Michael-speak, and deciding to switch strategies): Do you want to listen to a story?
Michael: No! Dum Dah!
Me: Do you want music?
Michael: Yeth! Dum dah!
Me (relieved that now it's just a process of elimination): Do you want Kirk Franklin?
Michael: No! Me wissen dum dah!
Me: Chris Tomlin?
Michael (in tears): No!
Me (the light dawning): Tim McGraw?
Michael: Yeth! Dum Dah! Dum Dah!
I've never been so ecstatic about putting the Tim McGraw cd in the player.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
"My Nice Bed"
Today Nathan ceded his old toddler bed to his brother.
"Me wike my nice bed."
"Double me up! (Cover me up!)"
"Dada dake mine dib away. (Daddy took my crib away.)"
I had mastered climbing in and out of my crib.
My new toddler bed is so much easier to climb in and out of!
Lost in Translation
Having a two-year-old is like living in another country. Even the most basic communications can be grueling, taking enormous energy and time. For example, on the way home from school the other day. . .
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White?
Me: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White?
Me: Daddy's something white?
Michael: No! Dadda. Tap. White.
Me: Daddy's . . . uh . . .
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White!
Me: Sorry, Michael, I can't understand!
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White! Dadda. Tap. White!
Out of pity for you, the reader, I'll omit the increasingly urgent variations on a theme. Then, by a stroke of serendipity, just as we had reached a panic level, we passed a traffic signal, which enlightened me.
Me: Ohhh . . . Daddy stopped at the light?
Michael, frustratation giving way to great relief and joy: Yess! Dadda. Tap. White!
I guess the difference is in other countries people don't usually repeat themselves ten to twenty times. Usually you just both smile and nod, pretending you understand, hoping they don't notice. A two-year-old never lets you get away with it.
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White?
Me: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White?
Me: Daddy's something white?
Michael: No! Dadda. Tap. White.
Me: Daddy's . . . uh . . .
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White!
Me: Sorry, Michael, I can't understand!
Michael: Dadda. Tap. White! Dadda. Tap. White!
Out of pity for you, the reader, I'll omit the increasingly urgent variations on a theme. Then, by a stroke of serendipity, just as we had reached a panic level, we passed a traffic signal, which enlightened me.
Me: Ohhh . . . Daddy stopped at the light?
Michael, frustratation giving way to great relief and joy: Yess! Dadda. Tap. White!
I guess the difference is in other countries people don't usually repeat themselves ten to twenty times. Usually you just both smile and nod, pretending you understand, hoping they don't notice. A two-year-old never lets you get away with it.
Monday, November 5, 2007
How It Really Happened...
I'm learning so much about history from my kids, now that they're in school. We were driving in the van when this interchange took place:
Nathan: The first man to walk on the moon was . . . was . . . the first man to walk on the moon was, um, Eisenhower.
Me: Eisenhower?
Nathan: Yup. Eisenhower was the first man to walk on the moon.
Me: I think you mean Armstrong.
Nathan: Oh, yeah, Armstrong was the first person God created, so that's why he was the first man to walk on the moon.
Me: Well . . . actually, Neil Armstrong wasn't the first person God created. There were lots of people on earth, and some people got in a rocket and went to the moon. Neil Armstrong was in the first space craft to land on the moon, and when he got out he became the first person to walk on the moon.
Nathan: Yes, and he was zery, zery strong.
Nathan: The first man to walk on the moon was . . . was . . . the first man to walk on the moon was, um, Eisenhower.
Me: Eisenhower?
Nathan: Yup. Eisenhower was the first man to walk on the moon.
Me: I think you mean Armstrong.
Nathan: Oh, yeah, Armstrong was the first person God created, so that's why he was the first man to walk on the moon.
Me: Well . . . actually, Neil Armstrong wasn't the first person God created. There were lots of people on earth, and some people got in a rocket and went to the moon. Neil Armstrong was in the first space craft to land on the moon, and when he got out he became the first person to walk on the moon.
Nathan: Yes, and he was zery, zery strong.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Two Pirates and a Monster
Pirate Princess, Elmo, Cap'n Jack, Spidey, and Stitch
ready for a night on the town
Two Brothers
Our Happy Family
The Spoils of Battle
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Quote of the Day
Nathan: "When I was a w'il baby, I was too busy destroying fings inside my birthmom's tummy!"
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Heart Break
This morning Jen was enjoying snuggling with our boys in bed. She turned to me and said, "Some day these boys are going to break my heart."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because they won't snuggle with me any more."
Michael sat up. "Me bwote (broke) Mama arm?"
We laughed out loud. "No, you didn't break mommy's arm!" I said.
"Nay-nay bwote Mama arm?"
"No, Nathan didn't break mommy's arm, either!" I tried to explain. "Mommy said you'll break her heart. She's joking. She means you won't snuggle with her any more."
"Bwote heark?"
"Yes, broken heart."
"Bwote heark."
Clearly Michael is very concerned about his mother's health and well-being.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because they won't snuggle with me any more."
Michael sat up. "Me bwote (broke) Mama arm?"
We laughed out loud. "No, you didn't break mommy's arm!" I said.
"Nay-nay bwote Mama arm?"
"No, Nathan didn't break mommy's arm, either!" I tried to explain. "Mommy said you'll break her heart. She's joking. She means you won't snuggle with her any more."
"Bwote heark?"
"Yes, broken heart."
"Bwote heark."
Clearly Michael is very concerned about his mother's health and well-being.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Crazy Moms Produce Creative Artists
After a homework blowout with her mom, Susanna wrote the following poem. They subsequently worked it out.
Moms advice
Moms advice is not very nice.
She said do this and do that
clean up your toys clean up your hat!
I do not like it. Not even a BIT.
It is simply dredful. I hate it.
Can you say sorry a Bit?
Please?
Moms advice
Moms advice is not very nice.
She said do this and do that
clean up your toys clean up your hat!
I do not like it. Not even a BIT.
It is simply dredful. I hate it.
Can you say sorry a Bit?
Please?
Monday, September 24, 2007
Provisions
Every day when I drive the kids to school, they beg for the next installment of "The Dragon-Hunters."
Today, Susanna the Hunter, Nathan the Hunter, and Michael the Hunter had polished their armor and were loading their horses up with provisions. I asked the kids, "What are provisions? Provisions means things you need for the trip."
Nathan said, "Water!" "Right, they need water for sure." Susanna added, "Sleeping bags. And tents." "Yes," I said, "they took blankets, but they were tough hunters so they didn't need tents; they slept outside. What else?"
"A TV!" Nate shouted. "No TV," I said. "There are other provisions they really need." "Sewage?" asked Susanna. Laughing out loud, I said, "No, they just dug a hole to use as a toilet and then covered it with dirt."
"Eww!" said Susanna. "What else?" I pressed. "A shovel? To dig the hole?" she asked.
"There's something else they really need." "A cough drop?" she guessed.
I was amused to find out what my kids consider necessities. I guess food is low on the priority list.
Today, Susanna the Hunter, Nathan the Hunter, and Michael the Hunter had polished their armor and were loading their horses up with provisions. I asked the kids, "What are provisions? Provisions means things you need for the trip."
Nathan said, "Water!" "Right, they need water for sure." Susanna added, "Sleeping bags. And tents." "Yes," I said, "they took blankets, but they were tough hunters so they didn't need tents; they slept outside. What else?"
"A TV!" Nate shouted. "No TV," I said. "There are other provisions they really need." "Sewage?" asked Susanna. Laughing out loud, I said, "No, they just dug a hole to use as a toilet and then covered it with dirt."
"Eww!" said Susanna. "What else?" I pressed. "A shovel? To dig the hole?" she asked.
"There's something else they really need." "A cough drop?" she guessed.
I was amused to find out what my kids consider necessities. I guess food is low on the priority list.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Abraham Lincoln
Overhead from the backseat on the way to soccer practice (Susanna is 7, Nathan's 4):
Susanna: I brought the book about Abraham Lincoln to read.
Nathan: Abraham Winkin did a cool fwip.
Susanna (outraged): No, he did NOT do a flip! He was real.
Nathan: Abraham Winkin was wooking the other way, and he got shot in the back of the head.
Susanna: Let me read that part to you. ". . . while President Lincoln and his wife were watching a play, seated in the pres . . . presidential box in the Ford Theater, John Winkes Boothe, who sympa- . . . sympathized with the South-ern Cows"
Me: Southern Cause.
Susanna: ". . . Southern cause, had shot him in the head." That means he died.
Nathan: Yes, and then he came back alive.
Susanna (outraged again): NO, he did NOT come back alive again. This is not a movie, Nathan! This is real.
Nathan: He came back alive.
Susanna (adamant): He did NOT come back alive. Except in God's world. He came back alive in God's world, because I just KNOW he believed in God.
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