Hello Kitty!

Evie loves Hello Kitty. She loves pink. She loves her dresses and princesses and those Barbie movies with the awful, catchy, melodic songs. But that's another story.

In the last few days, Evie has taken to crawling on top of the couch in front of the big window and laying there on her stomach, across the big back cushion. Sometimes that how she watches a video on TV. Sometimes she stares out the window, following the birds and the squirrels from her perch in the sun.

"Hallo, Evie-Katze," I say as I notice her from the kitchen. She doesn't move, or acknowledge my acknowledgment. Without looking up, she only smirks a little, and resumes whatever else she was doing.

Puzzle

This afternoon, William asked if he could play on the computer. I randomly guessed that he was referring to his new Lego Star Wars game that he got for his birthday. He's allowed to play it once per day, with his sticker chart providing the necessary backup anytime he tries to get in too much screen time.

But when he asked today, I simply pulled out the trump card and calmly explained that we don't play video games on Sunday. He didn't blink. "I mean a church game!"

Of course! What was I thinking?

So I fired up lds.org, clicked on The Friend, and to my amazement saw that the Church is totally rocking this whole online experience thing with it's kids magazines. I clicked on the "Play Games" link. What happened next took my totally by surprise.

"Puzzle" said William. I couldn't believe it. Of the three options to choose from on the screen in front of him, "Puzzles" was the middle one. So I asked him, pointing with the mouse, "Did you read that?"

I then pointed to the other P word, right next to it, slowing moving the mouse under the word from left to right, and he said "Picture."

I couldn't believe it. (Yes, I already wrote that, but I thought it twice, too.) He had read two words, that I had never seen him read before, without prompting of any kind from me. Incredible.

So he clicked on the "Hidden Pictures" button, played with that for at least a half-hour, and totally forgot about Lego Star Wars. For now.

Say "cheese"

William this morning asked his mom for a "boy cheese". After he asked a second time, and clarified "not a girl cheese" I understood. He wasn't making a joke -- he meant it sincerely. He just wanted a boy-cheese sandwich, please.

Neighbors

William is riding his bike outside right now. (It's the green and purple one with white tires that our neighbor Steve gave him last year.) William is wearing his yellow fireman jacket; it's still a bit chilly today. He just rode across the drive to our Steve's house. Steve is in a wheelchair (but still quite active).

William set his bike on the ground in front of Steve's house and walked over to the newspaper that was wrapped in a thin, orange plastic bag and lying on the lawn. William picked up the newspaper from off the grass and stepped back onto Steve's front porch.

He just stood there a minute, facing the door, not moving -- looking at the paper, at the porch, at the tall, thin window next to the front door, thinking about where to put the paper. Then he pulled down on the gold handle of the storm door, opened it a little, placed the newspaper inside, and closed the door against it, making sure it would stay put.

Seeing that it wasn't going to fall down, he pushed the doorbell button with his little finger, then got back on his bike to ride away and help Burt's newspaper find the front door, too.

Snugs as bugs

The past few nights we've put Evie and William to bed around the same time, in the same room, which means they sing and chat and play. Evie especially loves to lie (or sit) in her bed and sing. Sometimes she'll tussle Williams hair if I've wrapped him up tight in his blanket "like a baby, when William was small," he says. (Like a burrito, I say.) Sometimes they'll even climb into each other's beds.

For a while I tried to put a stop to the playing, insisting they lay down and sleep. A couple days ago I was too lazy to go back in, so Mirjam and I just sat there on the couch watching Biggest Loser or something.

Around 8:30 or 9:00 I noticed they were both quiet. I remembered how I would sometimes chat with my brother at night when we were little and shared a room, or on campouts with the other boys in the tent. After a while the conversation would naturally die down and taper off into silence.

So now we've sort of adapted, too. We put the kids to bed around 7:00 p.m., and I let them chat and sing for a while, with the Hello Kitty night-light still glowing. I might go in if it gets too rowdy, but usually I'll just check in around 8:00 to turn the night-light off, give them another kiss on the head, pack them up tight again in their blankets, and let them doze off naturally.

Last night I came home around 9:30 p.m. to find William and Evie snuggled together in her crib. It was so cute -- absolutely adorable to see them together, gently breathing in and out, dreaming about Valentine's candies and Star Wars Legos. They love playing together so much during the day, and especially so when they have to go to bed.

We usually leave the crib's retractable fourth side down so Evie can climb in and out more easily, but it had been pulled up all the way. Williams hand hung between the slats, Evie was facing the other way, two or three stuffed animals had joined them, blankets of many shapes and sizes and colors were drawn across them, or sometimes not, and they had nabbed my big pillow from off my bed for the two of them to share.

While they slept I lowered the side of the crib down again, gently nudging William and jiggering the far corner so it would move. I sorted the blankets out, laid William in his own little bed, on his own red square pillow, and covered him with three or four of the blankets. I set the stuffed animals back in their blue box, retrieved my pillow for myself again (noticing some drool on one spot), and wrapped Evie up in another three or four blankets.

I stroked their hair, kissed them good-night again, and gently closed the door.

Jon

Pullern!

Evie is now completely half-way potty trained. Any time she needs to go Number 1 she suddenly and quickly exclaims "Avoll pullen!" which translated is "Ich will pullern" which loosely translated means "I need to pee."

Whoever is nearest then flies her to the bathroom (or sometimes she just hops or gallops) sets her upon her kiddie-seat throne and she puts her hand to her ear to make sure you're listening, and then lets it go.

When she's done, she hops down the little step we set in front of the toilet, and insists "I do myself!" She pulls up her pants, flushes the toilet, washes her hands, and returns to receive her daily dose of adulation for her great accomplishment. (William on the other hand makes a game of forgetting each step, so I have to remind him -- every time -- to flush and wash when he's done.)

Evie has even made it through naps staying dry. Not long after she wakes, sure enough, she exclaims, "Avoll pullen!" and bounces off again to the bathroom.

Philips

William can write his own name now, in all caps: WILLIAM. He can also write STOP and MAMA and PAPA (which once came out as MPMP) and EVIE (or sometimes EVEI).

A couple days ago he showed me a piece of paper where he had written HARRY POTTER -- no joke -- in all caps, complete with the jagged letters that he copied from the front of the DVD case. It was quite impressive.

Then a day later, he showed me that same paper with the jagged HARRY POTTER, but he had added PHILIPS. It took me a second, then I realized he had copied it off the front of the TV. I started laughing and congratulated him again on his achievement.

Evie

A while ago as I was writing the Milk Teeth post, a favorite bedtime scene played in my mind. I saved it as a draft but never returned to it. I think it might have started out of my realization that I needed to write more about Evie, that I've spent too much time writing just about William. I've forgotten where it was going, but I still like the image it creates. Here are those two lines I saved:

"I covered her with her blankets, plugged in her pacifier ("ga-ga" in her terms), and gently told her to roll over and close her eyes. She did, I caressed her back and hair a couple times, and turned to check back on William."

William's First Talk

William gave his first talk in Primary at church today. I wrote it for him on the side of a program while I was sitting in Sunday school. He actually wrote his own talk the night before ("I do it myself!") but I thought it might need a little tightening up.

He was very excited all morning about his big day. When it was his turn, he turned around from his small chair in the front row of the Primary room, with eyes wide and a big smile, nodded his head toward me, and quickly marched up to the little podium with the microphone on it. I followed him up and whispered in his ear the words I had written, pausing after every phrase so he could repeat it out loud:

"I love Jesus Christ. I help my mommy, and my daddy, and my sister Evie. I share with my friends, and I love my family. I sing Primary songs, and Christmas songs. I read good stories, and watch scripture movies. I am learning to read, and learning to write. Soon I will read the Bible, and the Book of Mormon, and write my own talks. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

(Once or twice he whispered back at me "what you say?", and he muffled a word or two here and there, but overall it was a home-run first talk.) He jumped down and bounded back to his seat with a big, excited grin on his face. He was beaming with "I did it!" enthusiasm.

Carol of the Bells

William has learned how to play the popular Christmas song, "Carol of the Bells," on the piano. Not the whole thing, of course, just the first four notes:

Dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum, dum da-da dum.

It's a wonderful sound. Merry Christmas.

Milk teeth

Last night after William and Evie were both in bed, they called out an order for warm milk. I roller-skated into their bedroom (not really, but I felt like a waiter on wheels), took their order, and reminded them that they would have to both brush their teeth again.

"Okay," they answered.

I skated back to the kitchen, poured some whole milk into a ceramic mug and nuked it for a minute to warm it up. I emptied the mug into a blue-and-green plastic sippy-cup for William, and repeated the process for Evie.

I skated back to the darkened bedroom, handed them their beverages and reminded them about brushing their teeth when they're done. They again agreed, so I stepped out. Two minutes later I returned to their table, I mean, bedsides and asked if they were finished.

William had gulped down the warm milk and handed his bottle to me as he disappeared out the door. Evie hadn't sipped much of hers, so I asked if she wanted more. "No," she said, and handed it off to me. I leaned down and gathered her up in my arms, removing her blankets and baby doll, to go brush her teeth again.

As I left the room with Evie, William cruised past me to hop back into bed. I asked him if he already brushed his teeth again. "Yep," he answered without breaking stride and plopped into bed.

"Really?" I asked. He nodded excitedly, but I still wasn't sure, so I gave him the breathalizer test. He breathed onto my face, and indeed it did smell minty fresh. "Okay," I acknowledged, followed up with an enthusiastic, "good job!"

I scrubbed Evie's mouth and returned her to her crib, and the two drifted off into a plaque-free slumber.

It's pretty cool that they're both able (and willing!) to brush their teeth now, usually by themselves. In fact, most of the time they don't even want to let us help. I'll chalk that up as a victory for good parenting. :)

Tot

Pronounced "toat" or "tote" depending on who's spelling -- it's German for "dead."

The other day William was squatting on the kitchen floor, and he noticed a few tiny ants crawling on the tile. With his little pointer finger, he squished them gently but firmly, and proclaimed each one "tot" as he did so.

Clock

William is excited about his friend's birthday today. I explained to him that it's not until later this afternoon, but since he's a toddler, that didn't make any sense at all.

I showed him the clock and explained slowly and carefully that the small hand has to go all the way to the 3, and then it's time for the party. I pointed at the numbers and counted with him, "1...2..." and let him answer "3!"

Since then (about an hour ago) he has hastily and excitedly summoned me into the living room to show me that the little hand had moved a little bit. We're now sitting in the basement, and he and Evie are watching a German cartoon on DVD.

All of a sudden, he jumped up from the couch and started running toward the stairs. This is usually the sign that he has to go to the bathroom, so I asked him where he's going.

As he bounded up the stairs, one by one, he quickly babbled something indistinct, but I caught the word "clock." He was checking to see how far it had moved again. Incredible. Adorable.

When he came back downstairs, he reported back to me that it had indeed gotten a little closer to the birthday party.

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.