Why is a Many-Splendored Thing

It was going to happen. I knew it, I braced for it but it still caught me off guard:
“It” would be the favorite word of all toddlers:

Why.
“Why are you putting on my makeup?”
”Why can’t I have a hot dog for breakfast?”
”Why is it still winter?”

All I can say is OH MY GOSH. (see, he has taught me not to say Oh my God, we can learn something from the next generation!). I had no idea it would be THIS painful.
And part of my problem is that I answer the Whys, and he doesn’t like the answers I give him.

Seriously, if I take the time to explain why the microwave cooks the food than you better accept it as gospel and move on, because next time I am just going to answer either “Elves and Magic” or “The Baby Jesus makes it happen”.

The second and third “Whys” are met with a resounding “Because I said so!” I never actually promised out loud that I wouldn’t use that line, but I had made a secret promise to myself I wouldn’t. And so now I am liar to boot.

I am happy that he is using his noodle for more than just a hat rack but the aforementioned one track mind and the budding curiosity may result in a one way to ticket to Crazy Town for me. He just won’t let something go.

This morning it was all about where the water goes in the sink after it goes into the drain, there was a row about pulling the sink apart and getting a flashlight to watch the water go down. All interspersed with questions like, “Where does the water go?” “Why?” “Can I watch it?” “Why not?”

JUST BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND DON’T SWALLOW THE TOOTHPASTE.

But you can’t say that, especially not in all shouty capital letters. I am going to have to revisit my relaxation breathing.
They should give refresher birthing classes to parents of toddlers, the birth itself may need special breathing to work through the pain but so does the pain of the “Why”.

Drama King

I am a wee bit dramatic. (I know, SHOCKING). I have heard that since I was a child, I was always being a ham. The Mud Puddle has apparently inherited this quirk too (I should have a separate therapy fund in addition to the college saving).

Never have I seen someone so quick to bust out into tears for no apparent reason. Sunday night we were all eating dinner, when Scott took the Mud Puddle’s juice away from him. This is an on going problem too much juice, too little food. And it’s not like I make him eat anything he doesn’t like (any day now he is going to turn into a hot dog). He likes a variety of foods and I try and make sure he has a couple of food groups covered each meal (I work on the assumption that chocolate milk counts as dairy).

So, Scott snatches the juice to encourage more eating and the Mud Puddle balls up his fist into his eyes and starts a low, mournful cry. Now, in addition to being melodramatic I am also a softy. I quickly went over to him and put my arms around him. He buried his tear streaked face into my shoulder and cried even louder. Scott just rolled his eyes.
“Daddy *sniff, sniff* took my juice *heaving sob, heaving sob*.”
So I explained that Daddy wasn’t being MEAN he just wanted him to eat more and drink less.
Insert Teary Toddler Doe Eyes Here – “I am sorry Mommy, I will eat more,” said the weepy Mud Puddle. It was all I could do not to snatch the juice from Scott and give it back to the Mud Puddle. Yup, he played me like a fiddle. And the sad thing is, I INVENTED that move. Crap.

In addition to the water works theatrics, he has also taken to exclamations of excitement. We (and by ‘we’ I mean me) were playing a Dora game on my laptop last night, he was barely paying attention when all of a sudden he shouts “YOU DID IT MOMMY! GOOD JOB!!” I nearly dropped the computer and screamed like a little girl.

I got the sense that someone at daycare uses this exact tone of voice and volume level because he did it again repeatedly, all the while watching tv and letting me play the game (I kicked BUTT, btw).

As I got older (and more hammy) I also enjoyed belting a show tune or two perched atop my grandmother’s coffee table, needless to say I am not sure how well that would go over, but I should probably pick up “Fiddler on The Roof” just in case. And maybe some tap shoes.

Monkey Business

When I was pregnant with the Mud Puddle it seemed like there were pregnant women EVERY WHERE. There were pregnant ladies on the T, walking down the street, on tv. I am sure that I was just hypersensitive to it b/c I was in that mind set but it was a fascinating phenomena to me.

The Mud Puddle was named after a sock monkey (as previously noted) and from time to time we seem to be caught up in a monkey wave. Monkeys everywhere. Now I am not sure if everyone goes through these kinds of weeks/days where one THING or person or song is everywhere or if we are just really weird.

First off, there is no escaping Curious George. The big movie is coming out this weekend (an as a Houghton Mifflin alumni and one-time wearer of the monkey suit I am excited for it) and the commercials are running constantly.
In connection with the movie, Borders had a special on Curious George books so we picked up a few when we were at the book store (a weekly adventure) last week, and have been reading if not one then all three daily.

Dora’s best buddy is a monkey, so we have Boots to contend with on a daily basis. He is the constant monkey in our lives.

The most amusing monkey event happened Monday night at daycare. Scott does drop off on Mondays (so I can hit the gym, start the week off right and sweaty) and so I have little insight into what is brought to daycare that morning. The rule is no toys other than your lovey (Ellie has been getting the love this week, no stinky fish WOOHOO) except on Show and Tell days when you can bring one toy.
So I arrive to pick him up Monday night and he informs me that he needs to get his monkeys.
Say what?
He walks over to two of his “friends” (he wouldn’t list them if you asked but they hang together at daycare), asks for his monkeys and then hands them off to me. They are “Barrel of Monkey” monkeys and for some reason there are only three.
Now, one of the fellas took the monkey hand off in stride; he found something else to play with and moved on.
The other guy, not so much. He WANTED that monkey. So I told him I would look around for an extra monkey and bring him one the next day (I didn’t, he remembered, there was a scene).

At this point I am befuddled. Why did the Mud Puddle bring in his “Barrel of Monkeys” monkeys and where are the barrel and all the other monkeys?
I called Scott ask about why he brought in the monkeys sans barrel on a “non-show and tell day” and he said no monkeys were brought to school just Ellie.

So the monkeys are not his. They are stolen (hot monkeys if you will) and I had to dash the monkey loving hopes of one of the more ‘sensitive’ kids at day care whilst committing the monkey heist.

The monkeys are still sitting in the cup holder in my car. I am not sure how to return the stolen monkeys because now I have the Monkey Lover tailing me every morning and I can’t just slip them back in. I may just have to fess up to the crime and hand them over. Or drop them in “Block Area” and run.
I am sure you know which one I will be doing.

You Look Mahhhvelous!

I am big on outfits. Everyone at work makes fun of my myriad of outfits and that I seem to have one for every occasion. With that being said it should come as no surprise that I like the Mud Puddle to look nice. And by nice I don’t mean girly – I dress him like a boy but I prefer not to have him look like a rag-a-muffin.

Scott is a great dad (as was covered in an earlier post) and helps out with Joshua in a variety of ways. Yesterday I was sick and asked Scott to do drop off so I could just stay in bed and wallow in my bad belly. He took care of the whole morning ritual (he usually dresses the Mud Puddle and get him juiced/yogurt-ed up before he leaves) and they were gone before I knew it.

When I picked the Mud Puddle up from school yesterday I was shocked to find him wearing a t-shirt that was :
a. bought for summer because of its size and
b. not ever to be worn out of the house and ESPECIALLY not to daycare.
Why, you ask? Because it had the words “Chick Magnet” on the front. *SIGH*
I quickly scooped him up and beat feet out of there before anyone said anything about it.

Now I bought him the Chick Magnet shirt, (and one that says “I Do All My Own Stunts”) but I MEANT for it to be a weekend shirt for this summer.

Clearly we have a breakdown in communication when it comes to what is ok daycare attire.
But in the grand scheme of things how much does it matter? Scott is an awesome dad, Joshua is a happy little boy and the only people who could read it were the daycare employees and they pretty much acknowledge his Chick Magnet status (Two girlfriends and counting).
But clearly, I am going to have to hide the non-daycare clothes, or not buy anything that is funny but not daycare funny.
Or lighten up.
Yeah, that isn’t going to happen.