She's What?

That's right, Laurel's pulling herself up. She's standing! She's cruising the furniture! She's getting hold of anything on the edges of tables. Better yet, she likes to hang off tables. The girl has more upper arm strength than I do. With both her and Ian upright, all I can say, is...

HELP!

Toddlers are Cute for a Reason

...otherwise, the human race would have been extinct long ago.

I'm actually taking a moment (or two) to pull some laundry out of the dryer. Laurel is playing nearby and Ian is playing with his trains, or so I think. I quickly try to get the shirts and pants on hangers, trying to avoid wrinkles, because once a garment is wrinkled in my house, it stays that way. I am seriously iron phobic.

As I busily hang clothes, I hear unfamiliar noises coming from Ian's direction. Scratch, scratch, scratch, repeatedly over and over again. "Ian must be rolling his cars and trains on the wall," I think to myself. Wanting to get the last few articles out of the dryer, I ineffectively yell out, "Ian, put your cars on the floor."

Ian's two years old. Without direct intervention on my behalf, he of course continues rolling the vehicles on the wall. Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch. The sounds are becoming shorter in length, but quicker in repetition, so I finally give in and decide to intervene. I turn the corner around the staircase, walk into the living room and find Ian busily expressing his artistic self. Ball point pen in hand, he continues to draw line after line after line. For a minute, I stand there numb, observing this innocent act. Innocent? Yes, innocent. So far, the rule of not writing on the walls remains to be explained to this exploring tot.

Eventually, I regain my wits and grab his wrist mid stroke. The intent, focused look on his face fades as he turns and smiles at me. "Mommy, lines," he proudly points out.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Touching the stereo, yet again, Ian winds up in timeout. He is familiar with this routine, and accepts his consequence without a single whimper. Squatting down to be at his eye level, I matter-of-factly state, "Ian, you are in timeout for touching the stereo. You are not allowed to touch the stereo." I stand up, set a timer for two minutes and walk away.

Two minutes later, beep, beep, beep. "All done," a little voice sings out.

I walk back to Ian's residence of reflection to hear his apology. Before I squat down, something next to him catches my eye. "What is that on the floor?" I ponder.

Bits of paper lie in a pile beside the kitchen cabinet. "Ian, did you tear up a newspaper?" I ask since the recycle bin was within reach.

"Mommy, paper come off wall," he points out.

Then I see it, a now white area where there once was wallpaper.



Trying to look innocent are ya? Yeah, you're cute, darn it. Just don't push it. These actions won't fly ever again.

Playing at the Pumpkin Patch

Ian looking like a farmer in his overalls.

Ian braved the tunnel slide.
Whoooooaaaaa, look out below.

Ian won't touch the goats, but he desperately wants to climb their ramp.

Gotta have corn on the cob!

Laurel and Riley, a friendship blooms.

Pumpkins, pumpkins, everywhere!

Oh, little pumpkin, you will be mine.

This is the one!

Riley found one too!

Laurel, happy as a PUMPKIN!

Taggies Scam

As parents, we have all observed our children's fascination with tags. Found on clothes, blankets, stuffed animals, anything, tags are tempting to say the least for those pudgy little fingers to manhandle. They're also great to chew on. When Ian was a baby, I observed him go to town on every tag within reach. Of course, Laurel does the same. With this knowledge, I anxiously purchased a taggie book full of sown in tags made from pretty ribbons. I was absolutely positive Laurel would love it, that she would spend hours of the day manipulating all the silky tags found on the edges of each page in the soft book.

I could never have been so wrong...





What is this thing? Is it a book? Is it a blanket?

I mean really mom, what is the point of this thing? I just don't get it.

Now this thing I know. This I play with all the time. See look, this is what should be all around this book/blanket/thingy.

Oh, bother. I'm bored, it's just not worth my time.

Nay-oh

Our little family lives in Arizona, and yet our little guy sounds like he's from Georgia. All of a sudden, he's adding in extra vowels and syllables. No has become nay-oh. Milk has become may-ulk. Go has become gay-oh. At first, I thought it was because of his cold, but the cold has gone and the accent has remained.

My husband wonders if at least the nay-oh might be Ian's little mind dealing with our prohibition of the word no. When Ian attempts to assert his toddlerness and refuse to do something, we remind him that saying no means he goes to timeout. Still, that doesn't explain the may-ulk and the gay-oh, and other words that just don't come to mind at the moment.