Songs from a commode

A also likes to sing in the bathroom. (The acoustics, darling.)

Here's a list of what he's been caught singing:

• Baby Beluga, Raffi
• Alligators All Around, Carole King (based on the Maurice Sendak book)
  
• Yellow Submarine, the Beatles
• Everybody Needs Somebody to Love, the Blues Brothers
• You Can't Always Get What You Want, the Rolling Stones
• Hit the Road Jack, Ray Charles
  

When we hit the Stones, that's when I realized it was blog-worthy.

Underpants revisited

"Mommy, my underwear aren't wearing."

"What?"

"My underwear." [Enter bathroom, discover boy trying to pull up not only pants and underpants, but pants and two pairs of underwear.]

"Why do you have two pairs of underwear on? Did you have an accident at school?"

"No. I wanted stripes and Mr. Incredible."

Hovering

Ever hover on the edge of your decision-making process? We've got major decision-making processes all hovering right now. Are we going to have to move? Think so, but don't know so. Will we be able to afford a house we like? Don't know. Where would this house be specifically? Don't know.

Maybe baby L will be pointing the way for us. For months he's been tantalizing us with his own hovering. He got most of the way to rolling over and then--nothing. He hung out on his side, then rolled over onto his back. I honestly thought he's going to be too contented and happy to make developmental milestone progress. He's so easy-going.

Until this weekend. Then boom, he rolled over, all the way. Head up, looking around, checking everything out from a new perspective. Now he's all about rolling over. When I've strapped him into the neglect-o-matic (like when I got my rotary cutter out to do some sharp cutting), he's protested. He's decided. It's time.

Doctor visit: four months

L had his four-month checkup this week. Another round of shots (three! again!). He's 15 pounds, 8 ounces, and 25 and a half inches long. Everyone says he's a big kid, but he's actually average for weight but tall. I think it's just that he's a chub-meister.

A showed great interest in L's band-aids and wanted to pull them off for him. No thanks, sweetie.

Consult needed

Anyone who has successfully convinced a three-year-old that while it seems more effective to put on underpants and pants at the same time, it's actually a lot easier to put on underpants and then pants, please contact said blog owner with details.

Tour guide

A knows most of the animals in the zoo. He knows what they are and what the little placard says and anything else we've talked about. So now when we go to the zoo, he plays tour guide.

Example: Yesterday we were walking through Elephant Odyssey's bug section when someone said, "What is that?" And A stopped to say:

Those are diving beetles. They swim down, down, down here to get some food and then they swim up and get air. Then they swim down to get food, and up to get air, and down, and up.

[This is all him narrating while pointing at a particular beetle who was kindly illustrating his points.]

Little pitchers

I was stopped at a light at intersection. The little red hand that means "Don't Walk" was flashing when I first noticed the little old lady with her wheelie cart of groceries, and when it stopped she decided to walk out across six lanes against the traffic.

"Oh, you stupid lady. Stupid, stupid, stupid," I said to myself, but of course the three-year-old in the car heard me.

"Yes, that's a stupid lady," he said from the backseat.

"Hey, you can't call her a stupid lady," I started, all a-fluff, then I thought about what to say. I didn't want to say "Don't say stupid," because some things in life just are, and I didn't want to say, "Don't call old ladies stupid," because some of them are and hey, I just did that, you know?

I said, "Why do you think I'm calling her stupid, A?"

"Because the hand is red and she's crossing the street. And you have to wait for the white man to cross so you are safe."

"Yes, A, that's right. That's exactly why she's a stupid lady. But Mommy wasn't yelling at her; Mommy was just worried and nervous for her."

L at four months

L was four months old yesterday (how does the time fly). I think it's about time to make this pronouncement.

L is the sweetest, most adorable, good-as-gold baby in the entire world.

I haven't wanted to jinx this, but I've just reached a point where it's so terribly self-obvious that I can't deny it any more. We always thought A was an easy-going baby, so-called false advertising to all our childfree friends, but my God, L is like photoshopped false advertising.

He's sleeping through the night, in his own bed. Sleeping through the night means he goes down at 8-ish or 9-ish and doesn't get up until 5 or 6. It's unbelievable. If he wasn't so baby-chub plump, I'd worry that he was malnourished from not nursing during the night.

Last weekend, I did the plumeria cutting sale. I'm the coordinator of the event, so I had to be there for three days from 8:30AM until 4PM or later. This is a really long time for a nursing mommy to be away from a baby, so L was with me the whole time. Since I do have an amazing husband, he agreed to take off Friday to take care of the three-year-old and they came to visit and help me out.

But that meant I still had a four-month-old in a baby sling for 8+ hours for three days in a row. And you know how he did? Beautifully. Amazingly beautifully. Slept, stayed awake and watched, smiled at people, indicated politely (a little wiggling) when he wanted to eat and get a new diaper, but didn't make a peep or fuss the entire time. When he got home, he wanted stretch out time on the floor, but then it was pretty much back to the normal routine for bedtime.

I thought the second one would be our hellion since A was so easy, but so far (knock wood, fingers crossed), L's abnormally super easy-going and sweet. He's got huge smiles now and baby giggles and I could spend all day staring at the amazingness that is little L. He's gorgeous enough that people stop me and say, "That is a beautiful baby." Like all the other babies just get that comment out of politeness, but L really is.

Happy birthday, Jake and Niles!

It's been a fabulous decade.

"The trees, damnit!"

A has discovered that books are made of words and words are made of letters. He spends a lot of time pointing to signs and saying, "A for me!" But this also means he wants his texts strictly adhered to without deviations when you read them, and he follows along with a finger to try and figure out what's going on.

Recently, I was nursing L while A held The Lorax. I couldn't quite hold the book and read it to him how I was sitting, so we were turning pages while I asked A to tell me the story. He's getting good at story telling, so this was fine. We turned to a picture of the Lorax knocking on the Once-ler's new office door, and I said, "What's the Lorax saying here, A?"

"He says, 'The trees, damnit!'"