Blogging has not been my strong point lately. Neither has been cleaning my house. Sitting, however, I have really developed a talent for.
Instead of going into a detailed narrative of how my two-year-old thoroughly entertained five adults by repeatedly requesting to watch The Beauty and the Beast, just know that instead of the movie's title she very clearly says boobies over and over. I can't wait until we're out shopping and she spots anything related to that movie.

We're getting ready to head up 71 to Akron to play at my brother's house, be doted on by my mother, be entertained by Barb and Phil, and drink pear vodka with Aunt Ruthie and Uncle Glenn. I am thankful to get away and for so many more things.

Right now I am really thankful to be sitting (see, I've perfected it) in my chair wrapped in a blanket

Be thankful

Yesterday we, as parents, hit yet another major milestone.

We attended our daughter's first "performance". And make no mistake, she performed.

Twenty-five or so kids, all 5 or younger, marched into the sanctuary where Mothers' Day Out is run and told us grown ups about Thanksgiving. What they told us, I couldn't be sure. There was a lot of crying. A lot of toddlers jumping ship in search of mom or dad. There were some hand motions and little music. Mostly there was laughter - from us.

My little ham didn't jump ship. Nope, she took front and center on that stage. She wiggled her hips. She danced in place. She wagged her finger and shook her hands. She was in the moment. She was a star.

And then.

She picked her nose.

Inspected her finger.

And ate her booger.

All with quite a bit of panache.

We almost fell off the pew laughing, and I am sure there was one or two parents out there who saw her chowing down and thought silently to themselves...Thank god that wasn't MY kid.

I'll keep her, though, she's really got a stage presence.

Cool Bus

It's no secret that my darling husband has a slight obsession with school buses. He and our ridiculous friends have spent many alcohol fueled hours trying to figure out how to purchase a school bus. Would they need a CDL license? Where would they park it? Would it need a city sticker? Would they be able to install a bar and a urinal in it? Could they hire a driver? What would they name it?

They made hypothetical plans for road trips, bar crawls, tailgating and so on. More than once driving through Illinois, Indiana and Ohio we've passed school bus graveyards. Each time I see Andy's eyes light up and hear those rusty wheels in his head start turning. When we had the crew in for the Cubs game, make no mistake, a bus was rented to cart us around. It wasn't our school bus, but it was a bus nonetheless. A partial realization of the dream, I suppose.

When we moved I started to hear a lot less about the school bus. Some of the boy wonders who added endless fuel to the bus conversation moved away from Chicago as well. Some became parents. Some realized that plans made after several drinks aren't usually followed through on. The excitement about the school bus ebbed, and life went on.

And yet, somehow I still hear more about about school buses than necessary. Every day. Several times a day. With unadulterated glee.

Only now it's from my darling babe. Almost every weekday morning, if you are in my neighborhood and look up at my bedroom window, you can spot a towheaded little one with her nose crammed against the glass watching the kids get on the bus for school. The entire time she's saying "School bus, Mama! School bus. Lellow school bus mommy!".

When we are playing in the family room or in the yard and she hears the beepbeepbeep of a bus in reverse she goes running in search of it, the entire time yelling "School bus, mommy! Addie see school bus!".

Yesterday, on our way home from getting the car serviced, she was starting to fade in the back seat, lulling into a needed nap. Then, as clear as can be, she squealed "Mama! Mommy! Addie see BABY school bus. Baby school bus, mama...aaaah, babeee."

And for the next 30 minutes all I heard about was that baby school bus.

Again, today, as we were running home from our errands and she spotted another baby school bus. This time she said my name a dozen times and then said "Aaaaddddiiiieeee liiiiike babeee school bus. Catch baby school bus, mama, catch baby school bus."

I'm not ashamed to admit that I accelerated a little bit and caught that baby school bus, and my little lady clapped and waved enthusiastically.

Like father like daughter - playing at the pumpkin patch last month. Hee hee.

Last night Andy and I took a huge step in our marriage and committed to color with practically no arguments. By Sunday, our bedroom will be a lovely Hot Chocolate. Who hasn't dreamed of waking up in a sea of hot chocolate, I ask you? And our bathroom will be soothing in these lovely shades of brown and blue, which should look beautiful as I sip my wine while soaking in the bathtub.


While we hemmed and hawed over tones and hues and complimentary colors, Addison played upstairs, running between our rooms. I asked her repeatedly to get her pjs so that we could ready for bed. Here is her version of "ready for bed":

55 Minutes

8:12 p.m.: " I love you like the moon at night, big and round, warm and bright. I love you, goodnight."

Get into bed, babe. Addie covers up herself? Okay sweetie. Of course I'll sing you Baby. Good night, Addie. Love you, see you in the morning.

Night mama. Love you, morning. No close door.

8:23 p.m.: Addison, it is time for bed, NOW. Get in your bed and do not come downstairs again. Good night. Love you, see you in the morning.

Kay. Night mama. Night kitty - Daddy, school tomorrow. Night.

8:41 p.m.: Ad.di.son. It is bed time. Go back up stairs, go to bed and no more getting up. Do not come down again. Good night right now.

Okaaaay, Daaaady. Night.

8:50 p.m.: Addiiiiie! Why are your clothes off? Are you hot? Okay, let's put on these pjs instead. Yes, the ones with the purple hearts on them. Okay, get in bed. Yes, you can have giraffe and baby kitty. No, I'm not going to sing Baby again. Are you in bed? Okay, good night, love you, see you in the morning.

No close door mama. Love you, morning.

9:03 p.m.: Addison, what is the problem? Where did you get those socks? Those are dirty. Your feet are cold? Here put these on. No, mama can't cuddle right now. No, babe it is way past your bed time. Okay, get in bed. Okay, I love you too. No, I won't shut the door. Good night.

Love you, morning, mama. No close door.

9:07 p.m.: One chilled class of cheap pinot grigio poured.

TGIF?

I made fun of him when he dozed off.

I was just trying to get the dishes done. Or I was making lunch. Or maybe I was on the phone. No matter - my eyes were off her for seconds. And yes, the markers have been taken away.

Markers are to be used on paper ONLY! And this pout isn't going to get you off the stool, lady.

Sorry Addison, you Tiger now. (I can't believe that commercial is still stuck in my brain.)

TwoYearOld

In high school I took French and Latin.

French because I thought it was pretty and romantic and kinda cool. I was a solid B student, and once while traveling abroad in college I managed to eke out a three minute conversation in French with a Greek. I was impressed with myself.

Latin because I thought it would be helpful for my pre-med plans in college, and, oddly, Latin was kinda cool in my high school, which I think was due to the awesome woman who taught it. I passed Latin and all I really remember to this day is : Agricola, Agricolae, Agricolarum. And obviously it really helped my pre-med education, since I dropped that concentration about two weeks into the first semester of freshman year.
The point being: I've been exposed to foreign language un poco.

But now, NOW, I have a doctorate in foreign language. The language that I am fluent in? Not French, not Latin, obviously not Spanish. Nope, I am fluent in TwoYearOld.
TwoYearOld is a very complicated language that involves many dialects. My education in TwoYearOld may differ greatly from your education, but we both may be experts. The dialect of TwoYearOld that I am best versed in involves:

• Most words missing the final sound or having an over pronounced final sound. IE: English speakers say or-an-ge; TwoYearOld speakers say or-ansh. Or English speakers say milk; TwoYearOld speakers say milkchk.
• Animals are often identified only by the noises they make. IE: Snakes = ssssss. Monkeys = ooohoooohoooohaaaahaaah. Lions, Tigers, Panthers = roar. Dogs = ruffruff. Birds = tweettweettweet. Horses = neigh.
• There are words that are hard to pronouce, that should be easy, such as: water (lawter). And there are words that are easy to pronounce, that should be hard, such as: purple and Barbara.

In my particular dialect of TwoYearOld most everything is a question. Such as:

• What Daddy do, Mommy?
• What kitty do, Mommy?
• What Addie do, Mommy?
• Outside, Mommy?
• Treat milkchk, Mommy?
• Mommy, cows? Mommy, sheep? Mommy, neigh???

I find myself having to translate to most people who are unfamiliar with our particular language, or who have been out of constant exposure to TwoYearOld for over 24 months.

I have to say things like: No. No she doesn't want to brush her teeth, she wants a breakfast treat. Or: No. No she wasn't a Barbie for Halloween, she was a bumblebee.

I have to translate that the orangutans were shy, or the choo-choo train was broken, or the polar bears were sleeping. I have to translate that Aunt Kimmie gave her a haircut, or that her kitty has a booboo. I have translate that what she is saying is Beauty and The Beast not boobies. I still have to tell you that jayjay is vagina, but clear as day you can understand her when she says penis. I know that when she enthusiastically says twoweehigh, she means onetwothreefourfive.

So, really, I am fluent in TwoYearOld.

But last night Aunt Kimmie had to inform me that the word that I had been translating as stop (as in: Stop Kitty! or Stop Mama!) was actually SHUT UP.

Stop. Shut up. Hmmmm.

I guess I need some after-school tutoring if I am going to ace this course.