(no subject)
For Xmas last year, your aunt gave you two shirts with cute little phrases you often said. One was “FEE FI FO FUM” I forgot what the other one was because you pulled all the letters off within a month. I recently had to ask your aunt what it was, and I felt terrible, because how could I forget something so adorably and quintessentially you? I figured I better start making more entries for “What You Are Like”.
So, what are you like? You are extremely argumentative. Sometimes you can be sweet… very, very sweet, and lovey, and charming… but other times you say or do the exact opposite of what I want just because it’s in your nature to be contrary. It’s like a game to you - which actually works to my advantage, sometimes, because I can get you to come out of a tantrum by making the argument so silly that you have to smile. But, other times it’s really not so cute, and I just want to wrap you up in duct tape with a handle so I can lug you wherever I need you to go.
Not that I would.
You love Dr. Seuss (and who doesn’t??). Whenever we pick up a book you ask “Is it by Dr. Seuss?”, even when you know it isn’t. Sometimes you’ll argue with me about it, insisting that it IS by Dr. Seuss. Smiling the whole time.
Your favorite used to be “The Cat in the Hat”. Your father read that book to you almost every night between the ages of one and two. You have a stuffed Cat in the Hat that you sleep with. You call the guy in the Curious George stories “The Cat in the Hat” instead of “The Man in the Yellow Hat,” no matter how many times I correct you.
But it’s been awhile since we read CitH. We go in cycles. Lately we’ve been reading a lot of “Green Eggs and Ham” - and, in fact, sometimes YOU read it to ME. You’re not actually reading, of course - you do recognize a lot of the words, but mostly it’s from memory. Still, your capacity to recite almost verbatim is humbling.
And I know that little kids usually have great memories: your brains are wired to process an amazing amount of information at a rapid pace, because you are busy assimilating as tiny little people. But I know that you are super smart, nonetheless. For example: yesterday, your Dad and I took you out to lunch. You had pizza (polished off the whole thing, btw). At one point you were eating your pizza with a fork. You speared a piece on the fork and said, “Mommy?”
“Yes, Kinglet?” said I.
“If you will let me be,” you said, “I will try it. You will see.” Then you put the pizza in your mouth, chewed it, and said “I DO SO LIKE PIZZA! And I would eat it in a house, and I would eat it with a mouse…” and so on, reciting the entire end of the book, with “pizza” in place of “green eggs and ham”. If that’s not brilliance, I don’t know what is…
It was pretty darn funny, too.
And there are other things… so many things that I don’t want to forget. Like your “I have a question” routine.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, Kinglet?”
“I have a question.”
“What is your question?”
Sometimes the question is something you already know the answer to:
“I have a guitar?”
Other times the question is not really a question.
“I have a guitar.”
And then there are times when there’s no question at all.
“…..”
- You just like to say “I have a question.”
Oh, and did I mention you have a guitar? Well, you do. It is a miniature version of the real thing. Your father picked it up for you at the Farmer’s Market for $8, because you love playing with his. He also got you real pics, and you know you how to use them.
You love to strum the strings and sing. There’s even a certain song that you made up. We can’t understand all of the words, but there are distinct phrases that you repeat: “In the daytime” is the big one. It’s amazing and wonderful.
You also take after your father’s musical tastes, which is starting to cause some friction in the house. I mean, I like your Dad’s music for the most part, and there is nothing more amusing than listening to a three-year-old belt out the lyrics to “Free Fallin’” or “Istanbul, Not Constantinople” (which, godz, I hope we get on tape before it’s too late).
But you’ve developed an expectation that all music should sound like that, so when Mommy plays her feminist-indy-rock, you get pissed off. You’ve got me thinking that I have to start trying for a girl, just so I can have someone to listen to Ani Difranco with.
Most of the time I try to oblige you. I know Ani is not for everyone. But I put my foot down the other day when you refused to listen to Aretha. The more you whined and wailed, the louder I cranked it. I’ll be damned if my son is going to grow up without an appreciation for the Queen of Motown.
I think it must be sinking in… the same cd was playing while we were out yesterday. I think she was belting out “Natural Woman” when you said “sing it, Mommy.” And I tried. My voice was squeaky and pathetic that morning, but you didn’t seem to mind, and you didn’t complain when I gave up and turned the music up instead.
It’s such an exciting time, Kinglet. For every you-ism that slips away, another one just as adorable takes its place. I know I won’t be able to chronicle every one of them, and I can’t convey just how awesome I think you are, how incredibly frustrating and brilliant, how proud and lucky I am to be your Mom.
But I'll do what I can.
So, what are you like? You are extremely argumentative. Sometimes you can be sweet… very, very sweet, and lovey, and charming… but other times you say or do the exact opposite of what I want just because it’s in your nature to be contrary. It’s like a game to you - which actually works to my advantage, sometimes, because I can get you to come out of a tantrum by making the argument so silly that you have to smile. But, other times it’s really not so cute, and I just want to wrap you up in duct tape with a handle so I can lug you wherever I need you to go.
Not that I would.
You love Dr. Seuss (and who doesn’t??). Whenever we pick up a book you ask “Is it by Dr. Seuss?”, even when you know it isn’t. Sometimes you’ll argue with me about it, insisting that it IS by Dr. Seuss. Smiling the whole time.
Your favorite used to be “The Cat in the Hat”. Your father read that book to you almost every night between the ages of one and two. You have a stuffed Cat in the Hat that you sleep with. You call the guy in the Curious George stories “The Cat in the Hat” instead of “The Man in the Yellow Hat,” no matter how many times I correct you.
But it’s been awhile since we read CitH. We go in cycles. Lately we’ve been reading a lot of “Green Eggs and Ham” - and, in fact, sometimes YOU read it to ME. You’re not actually reading, of course - you do recognize a lot of the words, but mostly it’s from memory. Still, your capacity to recite almost verbatim is humbling.
And I know that little kids usually have great memories: your brains are wired to process an amazing amount of information at a rapid pace, because you are busy assimilating as tiny little people. But I know that you are super smart, nonetheless. For example: yesterday, your Dad and I took you out to lunch. You had pizza (polished off the whole thing, btw). At one point you were eating your pizza with a fork. You speared a piece on the fork and said, “Mommy?”
“Yes, Kinglet?” said I.
“If you will let me be,” you said, “I will try it. You will see.” Then you put the pizza in your mouth, chewed it, and said “I DO SO LIKE PIZZA! And I would eat it in a house, and I would eat it with a mouse…” and so on, reciting the entire end of the book, with “pizza” in place of “green eggs and ham”. If that’s not brilliance, I don’t know what is…
It was pretty darn funny, too.
And there are other things… so many things that I don’t want to forget. Like your “I have a question” routine.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, Kinglet?”
“I have a question.”
“What is your question?”
Sometimes the question is something you already know the answer to:
“I have a guitar?”
Other times the question is not really a question.
“I have a guitar.”
And then there are times when there’s no question at all.
“…..”
- You just like to say “I have a question.”
Oh, and did I mention you have a guitar? Well, you do. It is a miniature version of the real thing. Your father picked it up for you at the Farmer’s Market for $8, because you love playing with his. He also got you real pics, and you know you how to use them.
You love to strum the strings and sing. There’s even a certain song that you made up. We can’t understand all of the words, but there are distinct phrases that you repeat: “In the daytime” is the big one. It’s amazing and wonderful.
You also take after your father’s musical tastes, which is starting to cause some friction in the house. I mean, I like your Dad’s music for the most part, and there is nothing more amusing than listening to a three-year-old belt out the lyrics to “Free Fallin’” or “Istanbul, Not Constantinople” (which, godz, I hope we get on tape before it’s too late).
But you’ve developed an expectation that all music should sound like that, so when Mommy plays her feminist-indy-rock, you get pissed off. You’ve got me thinking that I have to start trying for a girl, just so I can have someone to listen to Ani Difranco with.
Most of the time I try to oblige you. I know Ani is not for everyone. But I put my foot down the other day when you refused to listen to Aretha. The more you whined and wailed, the louder I cranked it. I’ll be damned if my son is going to grow up without an appreciation for the Queen of Motown.
I think it must be sinking in… the same cd was playing while we were out yesterday. I think she was belting out “Natural Woman” when you said “sing it, Mommy.” And I tried. My voice was squeaky and pathetic that morning, but you didn’t seem to mind, and you didn’t complain when I gave up and turned the music up instead.
It’s such an exciting time, Kinglet. For every you-ism that slips away, another one just as adorable takes its place. I know I won’t be able to chronicle every one of them, and I can’t convey just how awesome I think you are, how incredibly frustrating and brilliant, how proud and lucky I am to be your Mom.
But I'll do what I can.