The Final Countdown

When R.J. was very little, I started the countdown. When we are doing something fun (swimming, trains, cars, bath time), I tell him, "R.J., in five minutes, it's time to (go home, eat supper, insert non-fun activity here)." And so forth.

On Saturday, we welcomed a new addition to the appliance garage. It is red. It drives itself. It. Is. Amazing. It is a Dyson.

Saturday afternoon, R.J. wanted to take a bath--not a day too soon. So, as he played in the tub, I unpacked Dyson. Dyson and I are on a first name basis now.

And, I started to vacuum. I marveled at the ease with which Dyson skimmed my hallway and bathroom floors. I shuddered at what the return air vent returned to the dust bin. "Mom-MY!," R.J.'s call broke through Dyson's hum.

"Yes sir?" I called back to him.

"You have five minutes," he tells me, " 'til I needa get out."

The countdown. Amazing what passes for fun once you've become a mom.

Simple Joy

There are a few simple joys in my life. Most of them are directly and completely tied to R.J. I'm lucky to have a job that allows me to enjoy those simple joys, even on Mondays.  Even with billable hour requirements.

Yesterday was a simple joy day.  I was able to work from home--from my little white cottage desk with the scented candle and my beloved Apple computer (no crashing e-mail, no 30 minute delays while my laptop restarts--simple joys). While I checked my morning messages, I listened to R.J. tell his 'Sisa what his plans were for the day. I lunch with R.J. and 'Sisa. I snuggled and rocked my baby to sleep for his nap. (and he slept nearly 4 hours--talk about simple joy!)

I worked outside on the patio--a rare treat in Oklahoma. Not too hot. Not too windy. I was Goldilocks. It was just right.

After supper, R.J. found his own simple joy:

It was 80 degrees outside. Gentle breeze. 

Simple joys are not lost on my toddler.

And he celebrates them with gusto. 

But, he is, after all, a toddler. 

And this dirty, sticky little boy is my most joyful joy of all. 

Your Huggie is WHAT?

I'm not a gushy lovey-dovey type. I didn't talk baby talk to R.J. when he was tiny, and I still don't mince words. On Monday night, he threw the ultimate tantrum. And he slapped me. I didn't respond in kind. Instead, I told him he has choices. He can either (1) choose to throw the fit; or (2) stop. If he chooses to throw the fit, for each minute he screams, I will take away a privilege. First on my list: Gymnastics on Tuesday.

Eyes wide, he stared at me. He wondered if his wonderful, sweet mommy (the mommy who kisses boo-boos, and answers every tummy trouble with sympathy and Mylicon) could possibly be serious. Apparently, I have my bluff. He stopped screaming, and he apologized. Later, we snuggled it out in the rocking chair. 

I'm pretty  matter of fact with R.J. on lots of things. We talk about why some people ride scooters in Wal-Mart. (politically correctly, of course). We talk about why we don't talk about pottying in public. This doesn't stop him from shouting, "I peed!" when we walk back into church. But, given that he peed on the floor during the sermon in the sanctuary on Sunday, I think the gig is up regardless.

So, last Sunday night, when we all piled into the big bed to watch The Cosby Show (are there any sitcoms that could ever match Cosby?), it shouldn't surprise me at what escaped from my little man's mouth. Out of the mouths of children. Kids say the darndest things. And all that.

My precious two-year old potty trainer, looked at me with heavy eyelids and said, "Mom-MY, My Huggie's jacked up."

Perhaps I should revisit the idea of baby talk, at least on some levels.

Conversations with a Toddler

We waited, ears straining, to hear that first word: "Meow." And then came "dadadada." For months, I was dadadada. Finally, finally, there it was: "mama." And now, it's "MomMY!"

And we have conversations. Lots of them. R.J. is what we call a talker. A conversationalist. An extrovert extreme. I think he may be president.

First thing in the morning, he greets me with, "You sleep well?" "I sleep well too!"

In the grocery store, he greets his fellow shoppers: "Hi, I'm Wyan James. I have cool shoes. (or in the alternative, "I have juice.")."

At our new church (where I am still introducing myself), after a battle over his dress shoes, he tells a church elder's wife, "My shoes too tight. They too small fo' me."

Sometimes, he'll coyly bury his face in my leg and tell his new friends with a grin, "I bein' shy." Clearly, he's terrified.

At supper (and throughout the day...over and over and over....): "How was your day been?" "You go to work?" "You gonna see Will and Judy?" "You gonna say, "Hiiiiiii Judy!'"

R.J. loves my co-workers. Last week, he told me, "Will knows how to read." This morning, when I told R.J. he could read a book to himself, he cried and said, "But mommy, I don't know words!" Note to self: need to start teaching the toddler to read.

When he sees something he recognizes, he tells me, "I saw that last morning!" (Translation--because I am his employed translator--"I saw that yesterday!").

When I told him we would get to see grandma in four sleeps, he bargained: "I have idea!" "Whyyyyyy not, two sleeps?!" (Litigator perhaps?).

My favorite these days is when I point my finger at R.J., and he returns the point with "I love you!"

Lately, he's been asking to see my baby bump. Or more personal than that, he stands outside the shower door and narrates for me.  I hear my shower story every morning: "You gonna wash yo' hair? And yo' boom boom?"

So far, he keeps his stories at home for the most part. And I am grateful. I am once again waiting to hear those first words--this time stories--there is no doubt in my mind that he will someday tell the cashier at Crest that mommy washes her boom-boom and num-nums in the shower. (Toddlers who were nursed have a spectacular vocabulary with which to humiliate mommies).  I hope that will be the worst of it. I am sure I am wrong.