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."
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, June 08, 2007
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!"
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!"
Monday, May 14, 2007
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.
Friday, May 04, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
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.
"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.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, February 26, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Aflac!
William is saying a lot more words, and pronouncing them quite clearly, too. His latest additions are "gabuud" with an adorably cute, slightly upward inflection at the end (for "kaputt") and "rrah-ra!" with an upward-downward inflection, which is his version of the Aflac duck's tagline.
The commercial with Yogi Berra in the barbershop comes on quite a bit during baseball games, and I tend to see a few of those in the summer. William ocassionally sits still enough for an inning or two before he's off again to inflict more destruction, so he inevitably has seen a few of the spots with the duck.
Yesterday, he saw my Scout bag with an embroidered head of a Common Loon on it, and without even looking up at me, he instinctively squawked, "rrah-ra!" and went along his business.
The commercial with Yogi Berra in the barbershop comes on quite a bit during baseball games, and I tend to see a few of those in the summer. William ocassionally sits still enough for an inning or two before he's off again to inflict more destruction, so he inevitably has seen a few of the spots with the duck.
Yesterday, he saw my Scout bag with an embroidered head of a Common Loon on it, and without even looking up at me, he instinctively squawked, "rrah-ra!" and went along his business.
Aahhhuurrr
Evie started growling a few days ago. It's a sort of long, low, sustained grunt. She mostly does it when she's either sitting up or lying stomach-down, propped up on a pillow.
Last night she was leaning up against my chest as I lounged back on the couch, her face a mere inches from my nose. For a couple of minutes, she made the same growly, grunty noise. I laughed at her and sat her up straight, but she stopped, so I set her back on my stomach, trying to avoid her slobbermouth, and she started growling at me again.
Last night she was leaning up against my chest as I lounged back on the couch, her face a mere inches from my nose. For a couple of minutes, she made the same growly, grunty noise. I laughed at her and sat her up straight, but she stopped, so I set her back on my stomach, trying to avoid her slobbermouth, and she started growling at me again.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Smiles
Evie is a very smiley baby. Every time I walk by her, she follows me around the room, and if I even look at her, her face lights up. Of course she can wail with the best of them when she's tired, but it never fails that when she wakes up from a nap, if she sees you, she'll be smiling.
She loves to be around people, and she's now old enough to know when she is not being admired. If I set her down for too long, she'll start complaining. I can return and look at her and she'll smile again, but if I walk away, it's not long before she's fussing again. I can pick her up and she quiets right down, gazing up with her blue eyes. Even if she's gnawing on a pacifier, I can see her cheeks twitch as she starts to grin at me again.
She loves to be around people, and she's now old enough to know when she is not being admired. If I set her down for too long, she'll start complaining. I can return and look at her and she'll smile again, but if I walk away, it's not long before she's fussing again. I can pick her up and she quiets right down, gazing up with her blue eyes. Even if she's gnawing on a pacifier, I can see her cheeks twitch as she starts to grin at me again.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Ebbie
William absolutely loves his new little sister. He smothers her. Sometimes literally.
He steals her pink pacifer right out of her mouth *pop!* and starts sucking on it himself. Then a few seconds later, after walking around (tipping his head back and forth while rocking from one foot to the next) he shoves it back in her mouth.
If she's lying in her blue bouncer on the floor, he bounces her more. If she's in the swing, he swings her higher. If she's being bathed, he splashes around to make sure she's wet. If she's sleeping in her basinette, he peeks inside and says, "Hi, Ebbie!" I think he's just making sure she gets the most out of life.
William always helps change Evie's diapers. If she needs a blanket, William runs and gets it for her. If she's crying in the car, William will help sing to her. When she was born, he instinctively asked to hold her in his arms, on his lap, as he sat in the hospital's rocking chair.
He kisses her on the forehead and rubs his nose on hers. He is a good big brother, and he loves his little sister.
He steals her pink pacifer right out of her mouth *pop!* and starts sucking on it himself. Then a few seconds later, after walking around (tipping his head back and forth while rocking from one foot to the next) he shoves it back in her mouth.
If she's lying in her blue bouncer on the floor, he bounces her more. If she's in the swing, he swings her higher. If she's being bathed, he splashes around to make sure she's wet. If she's sleeping in her basinette, he peeks inside and says, "Hi, Ebbie!" I think he's just making sure she gets the most out of life.
William always helps change Evie's diapers. If she needs a blanket, William runs and gets it for her. If she's crying in the car, William will help sing to her. When she was born, he instinctively asked to hold her in his arms, on his lap, as he sat in the hospital's rocking chair.
He kisses her on the forehead and rubs his nose on hers. He is a good big brother, and he loves his little sister.
These aren't the locks you are looking for
You know those white, plastic, child-safety doorknob covers that you have to squeeze in on the sides to turn? William found a workaround.
It turns out, he walks right up to one of these pseudo-impediments, sticks his index finger into the big hole in the middle, grips the metal knob between his finger (on the inside of the contraption) and thumb (on the outside of the knob cover formerly known as functional), and turns. Voila!, he's in.
About a week ago on a Saturday morning, Mirjam and I were just waking up when we noticed that William was standing in our room. "Did you let him in?" "No, did you let him?" "William, how did you get in here?"
The darn things hardly even slow him down any more. We keep them on to try to distract him from trying to open the doors, but it's mostly to prove that we tried.
It turns out, he walks right up to one of these pseudo-impediments, sticks his index finger into the big hole in the middle, grips the metal knob between his finger (on the inside of the contraption) and thumb (on the outside of the knob cover formerly known as functional), and turns. Voila!, he's in.
About a week ago on a Saturday morning, Mirjam and I were just waking up when we noticed that William was standing in our room. "Did you let him in?" "No, did you let him?" "William, how did you get in here?"
The darn things hardly even slow him down any more. We keep them on to try to distract him from trying to open the doors, but it's mostly to prove that we tried.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Who needs diapers?
Mirjam's working tonight, so I'm on William duty. We raked the yard and went on a walk. I fed him whatever I could find in the fridge and the cupboard. Then he plugged his nose, which is the sign we're trying to re-teach him when he needs to go to the bathroom.
I pulled off his sweatshirt, t-shirt, and pants, undid his onsie and diaper, and set him on the trainer seat. He hung out there for a while, flushed the toilet with nothing in it, said "bah bah" and grunted for me to help him down off the seat. Since he was already naked, I filled the bathtub with water and set him in it.
As I was eating a bowl of frosted mini wheats, he looked up from the tub and plugged his nose again. I ran in the bathroom, plucked him right out of the water, and set him back on his throne. Nothing. I thought he was just toying with me, as he does occasionally (little stinker), so I put him back in the tub and started to wipe down the kitchen counter.
When I looked back in, I saw William making the subtle strained pushing face that we noticed he does when he's filling his diaper. But he wasn't wearing a diaper. I leapt toward the tub desperately pleading "wait, wait!" but it was too late.
As I grabbed him up out of the tub, I saw the little William poop floating there on the side. Crap. I missed it. Just barely. At least it was still in one piece. We've dealt with much worse tub-poop-hand situations, so this was actually a relief.
I put him back on the kiddie seat, guessing that there might be a little more on the way, grabbed a big wad of toilet paper off the roll and recovered the evidence from the scene. I flushed the toilet, set William standing up on the dark green towel next to the tub, and started draining the tub while confiscating the blue rubby ducky and bottle that were also floating in the water.
When I returned from putting the items on the dishwasher--no joke, two seconds later; ten feet away--I moved William off the green towel to find one last tiny little piece of brown poop-ball where he had been standing. I can't win.
He looked a little cold, so I quickly cleaned his bum with baby wipes, wrapped him in a big dark red towel, and set him on the couch. I went to find a diaper and his white "vroom" pajamas, and met him back at the couch. I unwrapped the towel and noticed a large dark spot on the towel between his legs. He peed on my couch!
I couldn't believe it. I wrapped up the freshly cleaned and newly soiled red towel, laid him on the altar, uh, I mean ottoman, and slapped the diaper on--as if it would have made a difference at that point. There is a minor consolation in that William's pee is usually quite clear and watered down. Still, I thoroughly wiped the couch with a wet towel as I recapped in my mind what had just happened:
1. Ignored warning signs--poop in tub
2. Turned away for two seconds--poop ball on green towel
3. No immediate diaper--pee on red towel and couch
I hugged him and kissed him and read him a book and put him to bed.
I pulled off his sweatshirt, t-shirt, and pants, undid his onsie and diaper, and set him on the trainer seat. He hung out there for a while, flushed the toilet with nothing in it, said "bah bah" and grunted for me to help him down off the seat. Since he was already naked, I filled the bathtub with water and set him in it.
As I was eating a bowl of frosted mini wheats, he looked up from the tub and plugged his nose again. I ran in the bathroom, plucked him right out of the water, and set him back on his throne. Nothing. I thought he was just toying with me, as he does occasionally (little stinker), so I put him back in the tub and started to wipe down the kitchen counter.
When I looked back in, I saw William making the subtle strained pushing face that we noticed he does when he's filling his diaper. But he wasn't wearing a diaper. I leapt toward the tub desperately pleading "wait, wait!" but it was too late.
As I grabbed him up out of the tub, I saw the little William poop floating there on the side. Crap. I missed it. Just barely. At least it was still in one piece. We've dealt with much worse tub-poop-hand situations, so this was actually a relief.
I put him back on the kiddie seat, guessing that there might be a little more on the way, grabbed a big wad of toilet paper off the roll and recovered the evidence from the scene. I flushed the toilet, set William standing up on the dark green towel next to the tub, and started draining the tub while confiscating the blue rubby ducky and bottle that were also floating in the water.
When I returned from putting the items on the dishwasher--no joke, two seconds later; ten feet away--I moved William off the green towel to find one last tiny little piece of brown poop-ball where he had been standing. I can't win.
He looked a little cold, so I quickly cleaned his bum with baby wipes, wrapped him in a big dark red towel, and set him on the couch. I went to find a diaper and his white "vroom" pajamas, and met him back at the couch. I unwrapped the towel and noticed a large dark spot on the towel between his legs. He peed on my couch!
I couldn't believe it. I wrapped up the freshly cleaned and newly soiled red towel, laid him on the altar, uh, I mean ottoman, and slapped the diaper on--as if it would have made a difference at that point. There is a minor consolation in that William's pee is usually quite clear and watered down. Still, I thoroughly wiped the couch with a wet towel as I recapped in my mind what had just happened:
1. Ignored warning signs--poop in tub
2. Turned away for two seconds--poop ball on green towel
3. No immediate diaper--pee on red towel and couch
I hugged him and kissed him and read him a book and put him to bed.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Duck!
William learned a new word today: "truck." Sometimes it's "duck" and sometimes it's "guck" but it's always exciting when he sees one rumbling alongside the car. "Guck!" he exclaims, pointing out the window behind him.
A while ago he started trying to say "bus," but it usually ended up "bui." Nowadays he lets out a really excited "biss!" every time he and Mirjam pick me up from the bus stop after work. As we drive off, he waves and yells "bah bah, biss!"
A while ago he started trying to say "bus," but it usually ended up "bui." Nowadays he lets out a really excited "biss!" every time he and Mirjam pick me up from the bus stop after work. As we drive off, he waves and yells "bah bah, biss!"
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