Saturday, December 26, 2015

3 Years 7 Months

1)  Last month I posted a bunch of pictures of Fuzzy on a camping trip with his dad, uncle Noam, and some big cousins.  The kid had a great time, but unfortunately, came back from that trip talking like a teenager.  "Stupid Mama, I don't want to put my socks on. God!"  And in another gem, as I tried to wash his hair in the tub: "Stop botherin' me! I'm playing. God!"

2)  This entry really involves both kids - trying to get them out of the house is like an endless sock/shoe olympics, and pretty much the most frustrating thing in the world.  For example, here was a recent scene:

I chase both kids around the living room until I catch Sprout.  I stuff him into his socks, and then he wiggles loose.  I catch Fuzzy and put his socks on, turn around to grab his shoes, and discover that Sprout has pulled his socks off.  Fuzzy takes advantage of my moment of dismay and pulls off his socks.

We begin again.  This time I manage to put Sprout in both socks and shoes first, in the hopes that he will remain ready while I deal with Fuzzy.  One half of my work done, I begin the socks/shoes routines with my big kid, and turn around to find Sprout barefoot again.  I finish Fuzzy, catch Sprout again, begin tugging socks on a wiggly bundle of energy, glance up, and see Fuzzy taking his shoes off.  I lose it, howling to god knows who.

The kids settle down, I finally get their socks and shoes on, and we get in the car.  Five minutes later, I glance in the rearview mirror when I hear an ominous giggling.  Both little monsters have pulled their socks and shoes off.

3)  For a couple of days, Fuzzy complained of his butt hurting.  He did have a bit of constipation, but eventually would poop, and the pain would go away until the next day.  On the third day or so of him complaining, I asked him if he had eaten anything that wasn't food.

"What?  You did?  What did you eat?"
"One of my mans."
"One of your toy men?  But they're all really big, you couldn't eat one of them."
"No, it was a policeman.  He had glasses and hat, so that made him a policeman."

This took me aback, because we did indeed, several months ago, have a Lego man with glasses and hat, who in a preschooler's imagination, could easily be a policeman.  Of course, he hadn't been seen for months, but maybe Fuzzy had in fact found and then eaten him.  I attempted several times to ascertain if what Fuzzy was telling me was just pretend, or if it had happened in real life.  The kid was adamant that he really ate "a mans."

I called the doctor, and reported the conversation and the previous symptoms.  She said that it didn't sound like an intestinal blockage, but we should probably bring him in to be sure.  One x-ray later, we were certain there was no policeman anywhere inside Fuzzy.  However, the kid stubbornly stuck to his story.  "No, he's in there, you just can't see him because it's dark!"  And then the next day, "Mama, the policeman somehow turned into poop!"

4)  We discovered that preschool apparently teaches the kids patriotic songs, when out of nowhere, Fuzzy burst forth with a version of "You're a Grand Old Flag," complete with hand gestures.  There's really no way to do it justice except to link you the video:

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