Bubba Turn

Bubba has this super cute cyber buddy who writes a great blog.  Drakeson is a whole year younger than Bubba, so I figured Bubba shouldn’t have too much trouble giving it a try.  When I asked him if he was up for blogging about his day, he agreed.  Actually, he said, “Bubba turn!”

I have posted his dictated words first and then the translation for those of you still learning Toddler Talk.  I do a lot of translating these days.

Eat Mommy.  Bar.  Applesauce.  Bubba pickle.  Bubba oatmeal.  Cake no like it.  

Mommy slept in all the way until 7:00 or something.  Lazy bones.  I had to beg her to get up so I could eat.  She needs lots of reminders.  At first I asked for my usual cereal bar and applesauce.  But then I remembered it was Saturday, and we sometimes eat special things on the weekend.  So I asked for pickles and oatmeal.  I don’t really like pancakes.  Even when they put chocolate chips in them.  Pancakes are for big people.

Mommy shoes on.  Walk.  Mommy car.  Stroller.  Big water.  Night night.

After breakfast Mommy put on her running shoes, not the flip-flops that she usually wears.  I know this means we are going for a walk.  Together we drove to Percival’s Isle where I didn’t get to walk…I had to ride in the dumb stroller.  I was hoping to stay awake to see the river where you go over the second bridge, but Mommy’s friends just bored me right to sleep.  They talk too much.

Mommy car.  That one. That one.  Eat Mommy.  That one.  Sister seat?  Home.

When we got back in the car, Mommy called Daddy to tell him we had to go to the store.  Something about a care package for a friend at summer camp.  I don’t know what care packages or summer camp are, but she sure got a lot of cool stuff.  I kept pointing out other good ideas for her, but she didn’t really like my advice.  I again had to remind her to feed me, so I got goldfish out of the deal.  I asked Mommy a bunch of times where Sister was.  All she said is that shopping is easier without Chica.  Something about not having to answer a million questions.  FINALLY she took me home…shopping took forever.

Eat.  Night Night.  Elmo’s World.

This is what I do every afternoon.  No news here.

Bubba shoes on.  Walk.  Sister play. Wilson?  Willlllllsonnnnn?   Look.  Have it.  Welcome Mommy.  Apple.  Apple yucky.  Bubba apple?  Mommy apple?  Deer apple.  That way.  Slide.  Bubba do it.  That one.  Ant.  Swing.  More.  More.  That way.  Up.  Welcome Mommy.  Hug.  Home.  Eat applesauce.  Wilson?

IMG_0382This was obviously the best part of my day…totally worth putting my shoes on for.  Mommy took me on a walk without Sister because she was playing with our neighbor friend.  This meant I actually got to walk and not have to ride in that stupid stroller.  It also meant me and Mommy could talk.  I never get in a word when you-know-who is around.

First I asked Mommy if she knew where Wilson was.  That’s my friend’s cat.  She didn’t, so we tried calling him, but he didn’t come.  When we got to the top of the street, I asked to look at the magnolia tree like Sister always does.  Mommy got me one of those dried up flowers to carry.  I thought about how cool Mommy is, and I told her thank you without even being asked.  Mommies like that stuff.

We found these little apples between our street and the park, but Mommy says they are yucky.  She wouldn’t let me eat them, and she wouldn’t try them, but she said the deer might.  I knew she was trying to distract me with the apple talk when we walked past the street the park is on, but I didn’t let her get away with it.  Once we were in there, I tricked her and said we should go swing, but really I was thinking about the slide the whole time.  She actually let me go down the slide by myself, but she sure didn’t look like she was having as much fun as I was.  Mommy gets all panicky and jumpy around that slide.  She told me to ask Grandma about it.  I’ll ask her tomorrow.

We played on the wooden playground, rode the tire swing together, and then I tried the baby swing just to make Mommy happy. She was right.  It was fun.  Mommy took a lot of pictures, but I think this is the only one that shows how fun it was.

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When we left the park, you know what she let me do?  She let me walk on the high wall outside the old school building just like Chica always does.   I think this means I’m big now.  I told her thank you again because she was being so fun.  Ok, nevermind.  I really just wanted a ride on her shoulders.  This was a long walk.  Then I got tired of riding on her shoulders, and thought that if I asked for a hug, she would just carry me regular.  It didn’t work.  By then I couldn’t wait to get home and eat applesauce.  I didn’t see Wilson when we got home either.  I’m starting to get worried about that guy.  Do you think he’s still my friend?

Boogie-woogie sunshine.  Bubba shoes on.  Sister ice cream.  Mommy ice cream.  Daddy ice cream.

I did my usual stand-up sit-down comedy routine after dinner.  I wonder how long they’ll laugh at the same old material.  Then something weird but wonderful happened.  I had to put my shoes on AGAIN because we were going out for….wait for it……ice cream!  Even though Daddy got me my own this time, I still tried everybody else’s.  I wonder how long I’ll get away with that too.  In the end I shared mine with Chica because I was full on all the other kinds.  Mommy pointed out how nicely I was sharing, and Sister said something about about flies and honey and vinegar.  What the what?  Girls are so weird.

Bubba bed.  Sister read.  Belly book.  Mommy night night.  

I wasn’t very tired when Sister started reading to me tonight.  What’s up with her trying to put me to bed this week, huh?  Anyway, she read my favorite, the Belly Book, and a bunch others.  But I just wasn’t tired, so Sister had to get Mommy.  Then they both helped me go to sleep.  Bonus.

Hmm….I wonder if I play my cards just right, if I can get all three of them to put me to bed tomorrow night.  I think I’ll give it a try.

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Bubba’s Dictionary

The following might prove useful if you find yourself in a conversation with Bubba in the near future…

wawa  noun  1.  a transparent, odorless liquid for drinking and taking baths   2.  any liquid which comes in a cup

kakuh  noun  1.  Wheat Thins  2.  any snack item which, when opened, makes the distinct sound of a crinkly package

teetee  noun  (Alt. Pronunciation:  ditder)  female sibling

moe  noun  an additional quantity, amount, or number:  Moe wawa.

kew  noun  1.  an institution of learning      interjection (slang)  2.  repeated after Mommy or sister to express approval or admiration

ewww  interjection  used to express disgust when touching or viewing something icky

chews  plural noun   hard foot covering that must immediately be removed upon entering a vehicle

cox  plural noun  soft foot covering that must immediately be removed upon entering a vehicle

wok  noun  1.  a family outing involving the stroller  verb  2.  to escape from the grasp of parents’ arms and roam free:  Wok?  Wok?

no  adverb 1.  a negative used to express refusal, as in response to a question or request  noun  2.  the part of the face used for smelling

cheep  noun  a warm-blooded vertebrate with feathers and wings

pees  adverb used (when required) as a polite addition to commands or requests:  Moe wawa pees.

nanuh  noun  1.  paternal grandmother  2:  a tropical, yellow, cylindrical fruit

uhoh  interjection  used to make an intentional action seem unintentional

ah uh ewww  interjection  a term of familial endearment said upon parting ways

If, Then

If you see me in few weeks, and it looks like my right arm is way buffer than my left arm, then you are probably right.  Our jogging stroller is waaaay out of alignment, and the only way to keep it from constantly veering left is to bear down on the right.  Ugh.

If you see Bubba and me out and about, and he doesn’t have any shoes on, then know that he had them on when we left the house.  He insists on going barefoot these days, and he can get there in about 5.2 seconds.

If I pass on your homemade dessert or that third piece of pizza, then assume that I’m still sticking with the diet I’ve been attempting since Sunday.  The last time I stuck to any sort of plan, I was still nursing….it’s amazing how many more calories that affords you!

If I can’t figure out a way to get Chica to stop picking her nose and eating her boogers (AHHH!) soon, then she will most definitely become THAT KID.  An extreme amount of shame hasn’t really done any good….I need a new tactic.  How did we get here?!?!?!?

If both (or even just one) of my kids manage to become well-adjusted adults in spite of me plastering TMI all over the internets, then I’ll be amazed.

If you lay down next to Bubba to try to get him to fall asleep, then expect to be kissed on the mouth at least 20 times.  I pity his future wife.

If it takes an hour to get both kids to fall asleep, then it becomes really obvious what to spend my last 150 calories on before bed…wine and chocolate.

If I write a really random if-then post, then I hope my friends will leave me a comment with their best if-then of the day!

A Few Letters I’ve Been Meaning to Write

Dear New Mommy Friend,

I thought about you and your first week back to work when I was loading the dishwasher last night.  I had this memory of trying to squeeze 37 pump parts and bottle parts into the dishwasher every evening….and then trying to find a place for the real dishes.  This too shall pass, and I’m pretty sure you won’t miss it.  I’m guessing there were tears shed this week.  Those are tears well spent, my dear.

Dear Students,

I couldn’t be prouder of you this week.  When you decided as a group, without my help, to include that little guy (who is very hard to include) in your kickball game, I just stood there in amazement.  And you even let him take a turn as roller, the most coveted of positions.  You made his day, his teacher’s day, and my day.  You rock.

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Dear Neighbor Kid,

Bubba adores you.  And I don’t think it’s just because you wear sunglasses, but that’s at least one of the reasons.  He wants to be just like you.

Dear Weather,

I like you.  Do you like me?  Check yes or no.  You would think I would have learned my lesson with a very similar (and humiliating) note I passed in my sixth grade English class.  Guess not.

Dear Person Who Eyed My Belly and Asked If I Was Expecting,

I thought of you as I grabbed my third cheddar biscuit at church dinner tonight.  The only thing I’m expecting is a little self-control to show up one of these days.

Dear Bubba,

This evening when you hurled on my new shoes, your only shoes, and my Bible, at least you missed Daddy’s computer.  Thanks, and good aim.

Dear Jay,

Tonight when I was hosing the puke off the porch, I overheard your conversation with Bubba.  You told him that what I was doing separated the good mommies from the great mommies.  I thought the same thing about you (except good daddies/great daddies, of course) later as you calmly talked Chica down from her crazy fear of bugs for the umpteenth time.  Thanks for protecting all of us from the scary things.  I love you.

The Oxpecker and the Giraffe

Tonight on our walk, Chica asked me plainly, “Mom, do you know what a symbiotic relationship is?”

I had a pretty good guess, but I wanted to see what she thought it meant.  I knew right away this is something she had picked up from Wild Kratts.  (Thank you GOD we are occasionally hearing about something other than My Little Ponies these days.)  Anyway, her definition wasn’t quite correct (“when one animal picks something else off another animal”), but her example was spot on.  She told me about the oxpecker that picks bugs off of a rhinoceros.  I had to check it out, but she’s exactly right.  Still not quite five, but already smarter than me.  Sheesh.

All day I’ve been intending to write about collapsible baby legs and the moment in which I really lost it this morning.  Now I’m thinking that symbiotic relationships are somehow related to my mini major meltdown, so let’s see if I can work my way back around there by the time I’m done.

There’s a parenting rule that I forget over and over:  Don’t ever start to think you may be early for any occasion, because this will invariably cause something to happen that will make you late.  Maybe you’ll have to send out a search party for the left shoe of the kid that only owns one pair of shoes.  Or maybe after four passes by the mirror, you’ll admit that the snot on your shoulder (not your own, of course) is, in fact visible, and you’ll have to change shirts.  Or, like today, maybe one kid will decide that the best time to have a dirty diaper of epic proportions is the moment you are putting on coats to head out the door.  Don’t ever think you’re going to be early.

So I admit I was already angry while changing his diaper.  We were going to leave after our goal of 7:30…again.  But then he just Wouldn’t. Stay. Down.  All my usual tricks (a toy, a book, a song, dirty looks, brute force) weren’t working, and as he cried more and fought harder, my frustration just grew.  I somehow managed to wrangle the clean diaper on him, and decided to go ahead and let him stand while I finished with his pants and shoes.

collapseGrowing up, my grandma had a giraffe toy with a button on the bottom.  When you pushed the button, the giraffe would collapse in a limp pile.  Right then and there, after probably three minutes of fighting to stand up, Bubba did a perfect imitation of the collapsed giraffe.  “You want me to stand up?  Nah.  I think I’ll lay down now, thankyouverymuch.”

So the next few minutes are a blur.  Chica, get your shoes on.  No, for the millionth time, you cannot take a doll in the car because you’ll forget it like the other 17 toys that are already there.  Chica, find your coat.  Where did I put my phone?  Chica, find your coat.  No, Bubba, we cannot read a book right now.  Don’t take your hat off.  Chica, PUT.  ON.  YOUR.  COAT.

All I know for sure is that I was standing at the top of the steps, holding everyone’s bags, trying to take down the baby gate, and Bubba did the giraffe imitation again.  I tried to pick him up, and he was still the giraffe.  And crying.  And I still don’t think Chica had her coat on.  (Sorry….way too many ands in a row, I know.)

Three inches from his face I yell scream, “STOP IT!”

Yeah.  So I totally know that screaming at a crying, flailing sixteen month old is only going to make him cry and flail even more.  Pretty much the only thing it did accomplish was scaring the helloutta Chica and make her get in the car quickly.  With her coat on.

But here’s the thing…  Often when I get angry at my kids, I take deep breaths, speak (mostly) calmly, and seem pretty composed on the outside.  But on the inside I’m screaming mean, ugly, curse word laden rants that I think would fix the problem fast.  And make me feel better.

Today when I let that stuff fly, it only fixed half of the problem—Chica and her coat.  I still had to carry a flailing, screaming giraffe to the car under my arm like a sack of potatoes.  But me?  I felt worse.  Way worse.  And Bubba?  He never cries when I drop him off at school.  Really never.  Today he did.  You know it’s connected.

So maybe we’re back to the oxpecker and rhino and symbiotic relationships.  I know they need me.  They need me to remind them not to run down our sloping sidewalk, or explain what adoption means, or navigate how to make friends and keep them.

But Chica’s crazy, random question has reminded me that I need them too.  Today I needed them to help point out an area in my life where I still have a wholelotta room to grow towards Christ-likeness.

Gracious.  Compassionate.  Slow to anger.  Rich in love.   I need that.

They need that from me too.

How about you?  Any oxpecking happening at your house lately?

 

 

The Pink Stuff

A little over a week ago, Bubba’s eyes started oozing what looked like snot at an alarming rate. After waiting it out as long as possible, we finally ended up at the urgent care place where they told us it was, in fact, snot coming out of his eyes. Apparently babies’ sinuses aren’t fully developed, so that stuff has to go somewhere. We were sent home with a prescription for the pink stuff.

But see, here’s the problem. Our kid doesn’t do medicine. Only a week or two earlier we had seen the doctor over a digestion issue. I’ll spare you those particular details, mostly because one day Bubba will be 15, and I don’t want to give him some sort of complex for talking about his business…literally. I digressed for the sake of a pun. Sorry.

Anyway, they sent us home with another pink medicine for the stomach issue and told us he needed to take 9mL a day. So 9mL doesn’t look like much in a graduated cylinder in my fourth grade science class, but that is a whole heck of a lot of medicine to plunge down your kid’s throat. And this particular medicine even comes with a warning that pretty much says it tastes so bad you better try to hide it in food.

Well we tried that. First we tried milk. When he refused, I took a big ol’ swig to see what the big deal was. He was right, and I couldn’t blame it for not taking it. Next we tried halving the dose and mixing it in baked beans, spaghetti-o’s, or yogurt. No luck. The kid, to this day, will still not eat spaghetti-o’s because of that mean trick that we played on him.
Finally, despite all the warnings, we just went for the syringe to the throat. When every last drop of it came back out the same way it went in, we threw in the towel. We’d just have to find another way to solve his problem. This pink stuff wasn’t happening. So far FiberOne bars, yogurt, and applesauce seem to be doing the trick. : )

So when we got the prescription this week to solve the snotty eye problem, we braced ourselves for another fight. Thankfully it was for a much smaller dose, but I nonetheless decided that this was a Daddy job. I have a friend who talks about how certain chores are her domain or her husband’s domain. In our house Mommy’s domain includes bath time, kids’ clothes, and nightly backpack checks, for example. Daddy’s domain is pretty big, but I had confidence that his load could take one more task.

Jay’s tried all sorts of trickery since Wednesday to get those 2 mL down. My favorite is the make-you-laugh-and-shoot-you-when-your-mouth-is-open trick, but it only works so many times. He has also tried brute force, but the jaws of a determined 14 month old are way stronger than you would ever imagine.

This morning I think Jay was going the brute force route, and he got about half of it in there before it started coming back up. When he went back for round two, a very peculiar thing happened. Bubba opened his little baby bird mouth like he actually wanted it. I know Jay was expecting a trick, but there was none. Bubba just let Jay give it to him. A miracle.
Well tonight as I picked up 152 magnetic letters off the floor for the 43rd time this week already, I heard the following (one sided) conversation taking place in the kitchen,

“Ok Bubba. I’m going to give you your medicine now. Remember this morning, you liked it. Let’s do that again, ok? You just open your mouth, and I’ll put it in. See, it’s yummy!”

I was sure Bubba had planned some elaborate scheme….one time of taking it willingly would leave us with false hope that he would do the same again. But I was wrong. He took the whole thing again tonight. No fight. What the what?

So this has left me pondering tonight. What took us so long to realize that he likes the flavor of it, but he just hates either the element of surprise or force? How many other tasks do I approach like a battle that could just as easily be a choice?

How about you? Are you prepping for any battles that you don’t even really need to fight?

A Toddler Might Live in Your House If…

sweeping toddlerAll of your trashcans are three feet off the ground.

75% of the doors in your house are closed 90% of the time.

You rehearse the names of body parts and animal sounds multiple times a day.

You speak in third person whenever you want someone to do something for you.  Ex.  “Tell Mommy where you hid that phone.  She really needs it.”

You have knock-down, drag-out fights over who gets to hold the spoon.

The most used toys are not toys at all, but instead household items like brooms, laundry baskets, whisks, etc.

You’ve ever used a hood as a handle.

You have to break through a fortress to use the stairs.

You slide everything on a table at least one foot away from the edge.

You consider any fall that doesn’t involve blood a successful landing, and each fall is followed by an enthusiastic, “Yaaaay!  You’re OK.  Get up!”

You leave dead electronics (ex. phones, remotes, printers) around to try to distract from the real ones.

You find yourself saying things you never thought you’d say like, “Don’t lick that pine cone.”

There’s a wholelotta love and a wholelotta crazy at the same time.