Computer skillz

Last night William was playing Moorhuhn, a silly flying-chicken shooter game. If you get enough points, you get to type in your name. After he had yet another successful match, I pointed out each letter of his name on the keyboard, and let him punch the keys a couple times in a row for practice.

He typed his own name in, then hit "Enter," and I pointed to the syllables on the screen while slowly repeating his name. As he sounded it out with me ("will-ee-yum"), I praised him ("good job!"), and then sat back down on the couch as he again fired off round after round of his virtual shotgun.

After a couple minutes, I heard him calling repeatedly, "Papa! Wookit! I did it! Yah!!"

I realized he wasn't just touting another high score, so I got up off the couch to see what he had accomplished, and I was amazed. There it was on the screen: "wiljma."

Good job, Papa!

William is quickly becoming independently potty-trained. Mirjam has had him diaperless most of the day for a couple weeks, and any time we see him start to dance around, we send him to the toilet.

He pulls down his pants and his big-boy underwear, stands in front of the pot, squirts out a pale stream, closes the lid, flushes, and washes his hands. Sometimes we have to remind him to pull up his pants and undies again. Of course we reward him with oodles of praises and adulation, so that he understands this is a good thing. "Good job, William! Wow!"

We're still working on getting him to sit on the throne to go number two, but he insists on pooping in his diaper soon after we put it on for the long overnight sleeping time. He also seems to enjoy peeing on the grass or near the tree outside. It's amusing, but we still try to make him go inside whenever we can catch him before he's already dropped his pants.

Anyway, a couple days ago, I forgot to lock the bathroom door, and as soon as I started peeing, the door bursts open, and William was standing there, lit up with an encouraging smile, eyebrows raised, and voice high-pitched, proclaiming, "Good job, Papa! You did it!"

I couldn't help smiling a bit, and I told him thank you and to close the door on his way out.

Mampa

William says more and more each week, but one of my favorite things is that he still says is "Mampa" (or "Mapa"). He's not quite sure who's name he wants to call, and he might be looking at me but thinking of Mama when he starts calling one of us, so it comes out a little mixed.

Of course, it's usually "Mapa" because Mama is the one he wants to call first. Occasionally it's "Pama" -- once in a while I'll still get first billing -- but it doesn't bother me at all. I'm perfectly okay being one part of the bi-parental unit, as long as I get at least one syllable every once in a while.

Playing Papa

One of my favorite memories of William, from about a year or so ago, when he was not quite two years old, I think.

I was working at Target, and every morning I would get up, get dressed, and put on my glasses, watch, ring, and Target badge. When I came home from work, I had the same things on. I kept them in the little cubby hole next to my side of the bed.

One day, William walks up to me with my over-sized glasses slipping down his nose, my big ring on one of his fingers, or maybe his thumb, my watch dangling off his wrist, and my Target badge in one hand. "Papa!"

Indeed he was the classic example of what Papa looks like every day.

Lawn mower, leaf blower

For a couple months, William has been wandering around the house pretending to do yard work.

He used to use the black plastic vacuum cleaner extension tubes to vacuum up everything in the house (if only it really cleaned!), while making a "zzzhhhrrr" sort of whirring noise to simulate the vacuum cleaner. He would even grab the attachments and put them on the ends of the tubes as he wandered around. He's always loved the vacuum cleaner. Even when he was a baby, he crawled into the next room if he heard it turn on and chased after it. He was never afraid of the noise. He was always fascinated with it.

This spring, the lawn service started waking him up in the middle of his much-needed nap every week, so recently he's been using Evie's plastic multi-colored walker to mow the carpet all around the house. But the best thing he does is when he's blowing leaves. He started out by strapping on Mirjam's black, one-shouldered backpack. He stuck his hand in the clear plastic pocket on the end of the strap and started walking around, doing the "zzhr" noise, pretending to be a leaf blower. He looked a little bit like a Ghostbuster with that black backpack strapped to him.

But he uses more than just that now. I've seen him use his t-ball stand before, and some other toys that just aren't used for their good established purpose anymore. He recently got two pieces of stick and some tape and asked Mirjam to help him stick them together. He used that self-made contraption for a few days, too. After the wind storm last week, he found a decent-sized three-pronged branch and brought that inside to use as his new leaf blower.

Yesterday I saw him pick up one of his favorite sticks (the big branch), and pretend to flip a switch halfway down one end. He started up his leaf blower by doing the "zzhr" noise sliding from a lower pitch up to the regular sustained pitch. Amazing. Totally incredible and fascinating to watch him.

A couple weeks ago, he threw a tantrum at Kids R Us, and he almost convinced Mirjam to buy him a super cool plastic lawn mower. After watching him blow some leaves around inside our house, I told her that if he had gotten the mower, he never would have constructed his own. He doesn't need any toys, just some sticks and a good imagination.

Beyond

Last week I took William with me to go shopping at Bed Bath & Beyond. He's been there many times, since we've used our monthly 20-percent-off coupons to buy our entire dinnerware set, piece by piece.

I've tried more recently to prepare him for whatever we're doing, so he feels comfortable and safe and not surprised, so as we were approaching the store, I told him in a calm and pleasant voice, as he sat in his car seat in the back, "We're driving to Bed Bath & Beyond." I slowly repeated myself, to make sure he understood what I said: "Bed Bath & Beyond."

He then asked me a question: "Buzaityer?"

It wasn't very clear and I wasn't sure what he said, so I asked him "What did you say?"

"Buzzaityeer?" he repeated.

I slowly repeated it to myself, trying to decipher what he was trying to communicate to me: "buz-zite-yeer..."

Then it hit me: "To infinity...and beyond!"

He was saying "Buzz Lightyear!" He recognized the "beyond" part of what I said, and immediately associated it with his favorite flying space ranger. I couldn't believe it. I laughed out loud and told him he was exactly right. "That's right! To infinity and beyond!" He giggled, too, with delight. "Buzzaityeer!"

One, six, seven, go!

Today at William's pre-school, all the kids built kites by cutting a big circle out of a paper grocery bag and attaching streamers to one side, for a tail. William has been running back and forth for a couple minutes from our bedroom into the living room and back, trying to get some air out of this thing. Every time he gets to one end, he pauses and says "One, six, seven, go!" and takes off running again.

The Maestro

Last week on some night, William was lying in our big queen bed, because he didn't want to sleep in his bed. I was about to drag him (kicking and screaming, of course) into his room, but he ran over and hit the Sleep button on my little clock radio and begged "mu-sik?" I thought I'd let him indulge in one song, since it's always tuned to the classical station anyway. I was hoping it would be something mellow.

He climbed up onto the bed, flopped down, and tucked his legs under the covers. After he had settled, I realized exactly what was playing on the radio -- it was my favorite piece of music in all of classical music: Mahler's 2nd Symphony, "Resurrection," the fifth movement. It is a masterful piece of music, and William apparently liked it, too.

I watched him in silence, in the mostly darkness of our room as he lay on his back and shot his arms up into the air triumphantly at the climax of the symphony -- which is incredible -- then waved them majestically as the music descended back into a decrescendo. We both listened quietly as the music soared one last time, all the while, his arms conducting the music as it swept upward. He then struck his fingers into the air again at the final crashing crescendo, and the applause thundered. William yelled "Yeah!" and joined in the clapping himself. I hugged him and cheered and clapped along with him.

I hit the Snooze button to turn off the radio, and carried him into his bedroom. It was a nice five minutes at the symphony with my little boy conducting the massive orchestra and choir.

Happy Evie

Evie has a new favorite head movement and sound. She raises her eyebrows and forehead while inhaling through her nose, and then exhales while dropping her eyebrows and head back down. This is all coupled with a slight sing-song vocal breathing to accompany her nodding.

So now, instead of the quick in-out-in-out breathing while crinkling her nose and pursing her lips, it's a gentle up, down, up, down with a gentle in and out breathy song.

Of course, she's smiling, or at least smirking and beaming with full self-satisfaction, the entire time.

William's words

William likes to play with Mirjam's digital camera, and often he will request a "puhk-chur." Unfortunately, his cute mispronunciation is now all but gone, and he can almost always say "picture" as clear as a bell. Oh, well.

He also enjoys a "peeter butter" sandwich, much to Mirjam's dismay. (She can't stand the stuff!) I, of course, encourage the habit whole-heartedly and ask him often if he'd like to have some "peeter butter."

Because he's learning two languages, sometimes what comes out is a mix of both. He used to say "dee-too" any time we told him to say "danke," but now we hear either a clear "danke," full of all the correct consonants, or a quick "tanks," sometimes followed up by a tremendously heartfelt "merr much."

It's exciting to hear him talking more and more every day, and it's great to finally understand what he's been babbling about all this time (well, some of it anyway), but it's sad to hear him growing up so fast. Sometimes when I hear Mirjam coaching his pronunciation, I'll ask her to let him say it wrong for a while yet.

Dinner prayer

William no longer wants to have help when saying a prayer. I used to tell him, line by line (sometimes word by word), what to say.

"Vater im Himmel"
"Ftrrhmml"

"Danke"
"Dee-too"

"Fuer Mama"
"A-mama"

And so on. The other day at the dinner table I asked him if he wanted to pray, and he said "yep." I asked him if I should help him, and he said "no." So I let him go.

"Ftrrhmml...(unidentifiable babbling)...Mamas Brot, ah-Papas Brot, ah-Evies Brot, Iiyams Brot, Amen."

We were completely stunned. Mirjam and I looked at each other. William had said his first situationally appropriate prayer. Of course we weren't sure what he had said in the middle, but most of it sounded pretty good, so we resoundingly praised his success and ate our William-blessed Brot.

Cackling Evie

When Evie laughs, some other concerned parents thinks she's coughing or choking, and some will even ask Mirjam if her baby is okay.

Her laugh is a sort of forced-air, Tommy Gun-like cackling, and now William, who used to do something similar when he was a baby, has caught on again and occasionally laughs the same way.

It's hilarious to hear that coming from such a small baby, and it is contagious. Sometimes Mirjam and I catch ourselves doing it, too.

Angry Evie

A week or so ago, Evie started making a new face. She pursed her lips slightly outward, wrinkled her nose, and glared just a bit while quickly breathing in and out through her nose--all with a little smirk on her face, as if she knew that her mock anger was so darn cute.

She got the attention she was looking for, so now she does her pursed-lips, wrinkled-nose huffing and puffing whenever someone is close enough to laugh at her. And of course any time she does it, we encourage her by mirroring what she's doing right back at her.

Lately the breathing through her nose is slower and is sometimes accompanied by a low growl, as if she is even more infuriated. And yes, we do the same right back to her, too.