Nipple confusion

I can sort of understand how a two- and three-year-old might confuse the word "dimples" with "nipples," and then mix up dimples (of which they're amply blessed) with freckles (a more foreign concept in their SPF 50+ world), and thereby refer to dimples, freckles, and those little buds on their little chests...all "nipples." Loudly. In public. At random, inopportune times.

Except: It doesn't end there.

At Target, while I happen to be perusing the aisles for the right post-adolescence, pre-wrinkle potion for the oily-skinned who hate makeup, Annie stares up from her elevated seat in the shopping cart and announces, as if in congratulations, "Mommy, you got NIPPLE on yo' chin!"

So that's: dimples, freckles, actual nipples, and pimples--all nipples.

Then, at the park, on a sunny, 80-degree morning, which happens to fall the day after school lets out. Gunnar is spinning the giant tic-tac-toe wheels one moment. The next, he's parked in the middle of a mini-suspension bridge, kids of all sizes bounding over and around him, while he tears at his right sock and whines, "No, I can't move outta da way, Mommy. I GOTTA scratch dis nipple."

Now we're up to: dimples, freckles, actual nipples, pimples, and mosquito bites.

You'd think that would do it for smallish, circular items a young person might throw into the "nipple" part of their memory.

But then we were at local cross-country race. The Cheers of local running events. Everybody knows everyone's name. And address, place of work, etc. And now: how much Gunny and Annie enjoy "a little nipple" of a post-race chocolate chip cookie.

Who said dat?! Two prizes up for grabs!

I believe somebody said something about a break from the seriousness around here game/contest/giveaway... Oh, yeah. Me.

Okay, well, let's see how well you've been paying attention to the other Spawnocalypse voices (they're not just in my head anymore!).

The rules are simple. Tell me, by email to deb[at]spawnocalypse[dot]com, who uttered the following remarks, with extra credit if you can identify the post or context. Put "Out of the mouths of babes" in the subject line. Comments will be closed to avoid any inadvertent public posting of answers.

Don't forget that some of the quotes may come from the Spawnocalypse Facebook page rather than the blog. You don't have to "like" the page to access the answers, but this should still give my most loyal readers an edge. If you read even somewhat regularly, most of these should be a snap.

Okay, go!

What? There was a prize mentioned? Oh, you are good.

The first-prize winner--who sends me the most correct answers and follows directions--will receive a $50 American Express gift card to spend on whatever his or her heart desires. Sorry, Brian, family members are not eligible. One runner up will snag a $25 card.

Ties for first or second place will be broken by random drawing. Entry deadline is 10 p.m. Eastern this Sunday, May 9. Winners will be notified by email. Be sure to add my address to your contacts so it doesn't get exiled as spam.

Happy early Mother's Day and good luck!

1. “You are a walking, talking Post-It.”
2. “Hold me, Mommy. I’m-a-scared of the mean lady.”
3. "Dis. My. Mommy."
4. "No, no, honey! You don't want to aspire to be a grocery store worker. You have to shoot higher."
5. "I need medicine for my face. It not feel good."
6. "Mommy's belly silly!"
7. "My belly huwt. KISS IT. NOW."
8. "Good mawning, Mommy. I wahnt-a FOOD."
9. “Oh, no! I LOST MY BODY!”
10. “I washin’ my pirates.”
11. "Happy Ween!" "Twick or tweet?"
12. "I wanna eat Gwampa's house!"
13. "This counter has been clear for 7 days."
14. "I'm not tired, I'm just warmin' up [rubbing the hell out of] my eyes."
15. "Mommy, is the house a disaster?"
16. "Eat this. Your body will turn it into poop."

Mini posts

• I never thought I'd say this, but I wish everything were going as well as potty training. It's been such a sensation that twice now I've caught myself leaving Gunny in the same unexpectedly dry underwear two days in a row. Perhaps this is the laundry gods' way of evening things out.
  
• But as for sleep, my selectively "berry big" boy still needs us in the room while he drifts off. And if we leave before he's out, he'll A) howl at the top of his lungs how much he NEEDS us; or B) fall asleep sitting up with a blanket over his head, which, if parentally unnoticed, leads to his toppling out of bed, landing us back at A.
• On St. Patrick's Day, I realized I have a perfectly complementary set of of almost Irish twins. As if to ensure Brian and I get the richest parenting experience possible, our children have solemnly agreed to never put us through duplicate kinds of grief. Gunnar is in charge of driving us batty with his aversion to basic human needs such as eating and sleeping, while Annie takes the reins on throwing the most spectacular of tantrums and demonstrating bold-faced defiance.
• At the grocery store yesterday, Annie waved hello to the cashier, leveled eye contact, jabbed her finger into my shoulder as if it were a barrel of a gun and I was her hostage, and slowly explained, "Dis. My. Mommy." My heart is still all melty from being part of her first practice heist.
• Speaking of turning me into a puddle of goo on the floor, I realized earlier this week that I not only have the best kids in the entire world (may as well break it to you now), but the most amazing readers and friends as well. No, I'm not crying. Shutup.
  
• On a recent walk with their dad, Gunnar and Annie discovered acorns, and deemed the capless ones "naked." Yeah, it's cute now....Wait for it...Hours later, with windows open to let in some of the springlike air, they excitedly screamed, "Mommy, can we go out and get more NAKED NUTS?" (Dear search engines: false alarm.)
  
• Annie's finally got enough hair to wear a "pweedy bow" to keep her lengthening bangs out of her eyes. When she's sporting it, Gunnar tells her she looks like Minnie Mouse, her hero. They giggle almost as hard as they do over the scantily clad acorns.
• It's bubbles season. I will bet you all the nuts in your back yard that the first request I'll get this morning--even if it's still dark out, and you know it will be--will be to blow mo' bubbles. They can both do it themselves this year. Crazy.
• And for your regularly scheduled gratuitous cuteness...
  

Anticipation

While driving home from a quick errand around 10 a.m. on Tuesday....

"Mommy, can we go to Old MacDonald's and get some fresh fries?"

"Not now, Honey. We're going to make lunch at home in a little while."

"Awwwww. BUT I WANT TO GO TO OLD MACDONALD'S!"

The windows of my back seat begin steaming up with toddler tears. I have no intention of giving in, but remember that we've got a mall date planned in a couple of days: "Hey! Don't worry, we're going to have a special lunch at McDonald's on Thursday."

"YAY! FRESH FRIES AT OLD MACDONALD'S ON FURSDAY!!"

"Yup."

Just as we roll past the arches, I glimpse the "uh-oh" lines in my two-year-old's forehead...

"Mommy, what day's Fursday?"

Tuesday roundups return

When I looked back to choose my favorite posts of 2009 and saw all those "Tuesday roundup" entries, I told myself "I'm not going to do those anymore. I'm going to put half-decent writings on here or none at all."

Fortunately, I didn't include this pledge in my resolutions, the rest of which are going sustainably fair. Except for the yelling one. Somebody tell me how to quickly and reliably get a 20-month-old's attention from across the room when she's in the middle of mauling her brother's face like a pit bull, and we can revisit this subject.

In the meantime:

• Yes, for whatever reason, Annie decided to sink her mangled-from-thumb-sucking little teeth into Gunnar's nose. Perhaps she mistook it for a jelly bean, Gunny's potty-training treat du jour (from which she's benefited plenty).
• Gunny is back to wearing pants. And for "a whole bunch of jelly beans," I convinced him to try pulling them only down to his feet rather than all the way off before attempting to get to the potty in time. He's remarkably quick at scurrying across the entire room with sweatpants and a Pull-Up around his ankles.
• Guns still hasn't again "lost his body" anywhere except in the comfort of his Pull-Up. We're trying to stay upbeat and encouraging and hope he decides go go for it on his own. Though some recommend extending the diaper-free thing for three months, they clearly have never experienced a New England winter in a drafty Dutch Colonial.
• Our girl is graduating from the parrot phase of speech and beginning to express independent thought. As I lifted her out of bed this morning: "Good mawning, Mommy. I wahnt-a FOOD." She also apparently thinks she's Italian. And in the mob.
  
• I returned to the track one more time to see if I could keep my head out of my ass for all 15 laps. With a finishing time of 12:53, I finished the 3000 meters eight seconds faster than the previous week and just 25 seconds slower than a personal best set with twice the training and half the competing responsibilities.
• Gunny and Annie played civilly long enough for me to type 99% of this. Now must get a certain Mafia princess down for her nap before things get ugly.
  

Potty mouth

Potty training (which is still going brilliantly) has brought Gunny's one-liners to a whole new level.

A few of my favorites:

"I can turn these carrots into poop. ORANGE POOP!"

"Oooh. My body's talkin' to me [while looking directly at one body part in particular]. It says I bedder hurry to da potty!"

In the tub... "I washin' my pirates."

Just after passing gas ... "HA! I got rubber duckies in my bum!"

Seems I'll need to trade the diapers in for a portable filter for his increasingly unpredictable mouth.

More adventures in the produce section

I'm going to attempt to cook two homemade meals per week. I've proven that this goal is possible and the results are edible.

One of this week's recipes, roasted sweet potatoes and pears, obviously calls for pears.

As I peruse the fruit...

"Gunny, let's pick out some good pears. Do you like pears?"

"Yeah! I've got a pair, too," he says, pointing to his Thomas & Friends sneakers.

Tuesday night roundup: Halloween edition

Here goes:

• We watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown enough times for Gunnar to add "good grief" to his vocabulary (heard most recently in the tub when Annie tried to help me shampoo his hair, which was just adorable all around).
• Annie's speech has really taken off in the past week, with the additions of "Happy Ween!" "Twick or tweet?" and "Hi, Gwampa!" She's even trying to put marching orders sentences together, such as "Book, weed, me!"
• My cross-country coaching stint is almost complete. I'm looking forward to rejoining family dinners and weekends, but it'll be bittersweet to leave the athletes I feel that I'm just starting to get to know. The season will culminate with one overnight stay before the last meet. This means one solitary night with the lights off and the door shut--without having to get up at 4 a.m. to "chase doggies out da minnow," retrieve loveys trapped underneath the far end of the crib, or other such bullshit I am probably sick enough to kind of miss.
• And though Halloween is done, we've only just begun the horror of holiday season with toddlers: Two months of breaking routine for one day and paying for it for two weeks, with sickness sure to fill in and/or overlap any gaps in the regularly scheduled disruptions.
• Santa, if you're reading, I want a dishwasher.

All about Annie, even if she insists that's not her name

Seems my second-born is due for another turn in the spotlight. I'll start by bragging about Annie's language capabilities. At 16 months, she's already mastered the declarative sentence.

If she drops her cup: "I get it!" When she climbs up into her brother's booster seat, where she doesn't belong: "I did it!" When sitting on the floor adorably with a book open on her lap: "I weed it." And my favorite: "I dance!" (Special surprise preformance at end of post.)

One thing we haven't heard yet is any version or semblance of her own name. The first couple of times Annie greeted a mirror with a warm "Hi, Guh-nee," I thought maybe she was just thrown by the resemblance or I was just mixing up my children's names when speaking to them more than I realized.

But when I ask her directly what her name is, it seems more an act of defiance when she states, "I Guh-nee," grinning to the point of making her eyes disappear. Both kids respond to the correct name and nickname, though, so I guess I don't have a true identity crisis on my hands. If anything, it's a clear-cut case of Annie being Annie.

Nonetheless, nonverbal communication is where my girl really shines. I think I mentioned her affinity for Mommy's belly--but that's nothing compared to her glee at showing off and tapping her own round little "bebby." Yeah, it's cute. But we were still a little surprised by her disdain for being dressed in a one-piece romper thingy that snapped at the crotch. I was in the kitchen washing dishes (like I am about 18 hours a day), and Brian called me out to see. Annie was tugging at the snapped-down torso of her outfit, and met my eyes with a scowl that could not possibly have meant anything other than: "What the fuck is this?"

It was very, very clear.

And now, onto the show:

Traditional Tuesday night roundup

Yep, it's Tuesday night and here are the thoughts I'm too lazy to develop into a full post highlights from the past week or so.

To add to the growing list of shortcomings I try to glamorize and/or elicit empathy for divulge on here, I'm beginning to wish I was a better photographer. For instance, it seems this shot could have the makings of greatness in more capable hands.


As in hands that know how to turn the flash off on a camera they've owned for two years, or whether that's the appropriate thing to do when trying to get a picture of the fish inside an illuminated tank in a dimly lit aquarium. I love this accidentally captured reflection, but it would have been nice if the image included one iota of recognizable marine life.

I also wish I could go back in time and capture the really good stuff--like Gunnar's Loony-Tunes-jaw-drop-tongue-unfurl-to-the-floor-moment when I whispered in his ear that we were going to ride a REAL CHOO-CHOO TRAIN to get to the "fish zoo."

Lucky for me, the two-year-old was equally (if not more) satisfied lurching underneath the streets of Boston than he would have been chugging along the countryside a la Thomas. And to hell with the fish or his family, the kid would've gladly traded places with Charlie on the MTA. Gunny cried harder when we got off at our stop than when he bounced his head off the kitchen floor after slipping and falling in a puddle of his own pee (and yes, I laughed openly on both counts, but I don't think he noticed).

Potty training is still unofficial and sporadic. After one weekend of encouraging attempts around the clock with no results, we decided not to even mention the potty unless he asks, which he's been doing a couple of times a day. But even though he's consistently waking up dry and getting to the pot in plenty of time, he seems to hold it until a trusty old diaper is back in place. If I try to wait, he bolts to anywhere except the potty when he feels the stream coming. We don't make a big deal about it. At least the kitchen floor is now getting mopped regularly.

As far as the cleanup project, I have no more great successes to report--yet. Here's an impromptu room-by-room self assessment (at this very moment, while I'm decidedly computing rather than cleaning):

• Living/dining room: B-
  
• Kitchen: C
  
• Front hall: B-
• Bathrooms: B
  
• My bedroom: F
• Computer room (my side, anyway): A
• Kids' rooms: A-

Oh, and Annie. Remember her? (I'll have to try to lead with her shenanigans the next couple of posts.) She's busting out a few new words a day. Today: tunnel, flower, thank you. Recently: cuppy, dress, shoe, please, sorry.

She definitely picked up the last one from us making Gunnar say it to her 40 times a day when he steals a toy or is too rough. This morning, when I scolded him to "say sorry to Annie," Annie piped up first with a "sawry." Me: "No, Gunny say sorry." Annie: "Sawry, Gunny." Gunny: "Ha-ha, Annie say sawry!" Annie: "Sawry." Me: "Oh my God, never mind." Gunny: "Oh my GOD! Ha-ha" Me: "No, say 'Oh my goodness.'" Gunny: "Oh my GODNESS." Etcetera.

Finally, I may as well mention that I went ahead and created a Facebook fan page for this site. As awkward as I feel about self-promotion, if you're still reading the ninth paragraph of what was supposed to be a quickie post, you totally qualify as a fan and I already love you. But my birthday is coming up, so if it's not too much trouble, please take a sec to make it official.

Sibling scripts

There are a handful of ways Gunnar will react to his little sister in different scenarios:

If she's on my lap... "Ged down, Annie. Dat's MY mommy!"

If she's playing independently with a toy... "Annie. C'm 'ere!" (Grabs her by the hand.) "Come pway wid me."

If she's so much as glancing at a toy he's using... "Annie, go see Mommy!"

When we least expect it ... "Annie, I uv you."

Tuesday nap roundup

By 11 a.m. today I had both recycling bins stuffed with the smaller boxes; all of the dishes washed, including the stove hiding underneath them (thanks for the safety tip, Kari); most of the folded laundry put away; and the upstairs bathroom half-cleaned.

It was not without consequence. Even though I cuddled and played with the kids from the time they bellowed for me at 5:30 until breakfast at 7:30, they whined for attention and did everything possible to piss the other one off while I tried to be productive. They have days in which they play very well and entertain each other; this was not one of them.

But per my usual over-consumed-with-something fashion, I kept pushing. Trying to wrap up little things upstairs--change a crib sheet here, wrestle a broken shower rod there--while they screeched and scuffled downstairs. I ran down several times to check and tell them to be nice to each other (real effective, lemme tell you), but kept heading back up. Thought if I could just give the tub a quick scrub (which could have waited) before giving them a bath (needed yesterday), I could get them out of the house for a little while before lunch.

With the water running, I didn't even hear Annie's scream after a kamikaze dive off the couch or shove from her brother (no one knows for sure)--but Brian bounded down the stairs to make sure no one's head was cracked open. It was a scary reminder that they are too young for us to turn our backs for more than a minute, and sometimes that's too much. I can't realistically never run down to the basement or the bathroom or upstairs without lugging them with me or getting Brian to stop what he's doing (if he's home) to watch them. I've got my stash of "special" snacks and DVDs for when I need several minutes (within earshot), which keep them out of trouble if I don't overuse them.

Today, we ultimately took them up to play in Gunny's room while I finished the tub thing. Brian shut the office door, so they didn't interfere with his work too much. Of course, they ignored all the toys and made a beeline for the corner where the sound machine and air conditioner and baby monitor are plugged in--so I broke out the indoor tent, in which they wrestled and irritated each other some more.

But they got their bath, ate a good lunch, and are now napping. So why aren't I taking care of all the upstairs chores now, you ask? Because I'd rather die than wake them up, thankyouverymuch.

As far as other topics, potty training is tabled for a little bit. After about a day and a half of practicing sitting on the pot every couple of hours, Guns started gaming the system--squatting down on the seat for about a nanosecond and demanding his sticker. And the next few times we asked him if he wanted to sit on the potty, he responded with an unequivocal no.

And, before I fire off another epic post, Miss Annalie has a few more words:

• Please (translation, "Now!")
• Up (translation, "Now!")
• Down (yep, "Now!")

There are more I can't recall, but you get the idea. She's also got a nice row of multicolored bruises up and down both shins from her incessant climbing up onto hard wooden chairs. Super looking forward to explaining those at her 15-month visit later this week. Speaking of, time to start surrounding myself with paper and electronic reminders of when to bring what kid where for what, as my particular brand of Mommy Brain is almost entirely confined to screwing up pediatrician appointments. Time, date, kid, office, general preparation--have fouled them all up repeatedly. It's under control, though, so not summoning advice there.

Alright, well, I've got more socks to match up...

This week's obsessions, part two

Here is the sequel to Tuesday's post in which I covered Annie's obsessions of the moment. Allow me to now present the top fixation-related phrases Gunnar has been reciting nonstop:

• "Two more minutes." This request was cute and almost reasonable when he debuted it on my father-in-law two months ago; but naturally, he's now going for two minutes times infinity every time he needs to get his diaper changed, go to sleep, or otherwise cooperate.
• "I don't want to go to bed. I stay wake." Maybe so, kid, but I have a growing body of evidence that says you still need afternoon naps. How many of these shots is it going to take for you to admit that you're tired?
  



• "I go over bridge." This one can refer either to being in the car or playing with Thomas trains. Every time we do happen to cross a body of water while driving, his satisfaction disappears quicker than he can say "I do nudder bridge." At home, he'd be perfectly happy to push Thomas and his baggage car over the same four segments of wooden track every waking hour without so much as pausing to eat or drink. But I forgot to mention the other day that one of little sister's favorite pass times is tearing apart wooden train tracks, causing Gunnar to scream and carry on as if he's on fire.
• "I listen to Rocketship Music." Even Brian, who insisted we introduce Gunnar the embryo to Mozart, is starting to miss car tunes you can sing along to. But even though I almost find myself yearning for some eardrum-scraping Backyardigans, I'm starting to think that this fascination with classical music might be something special for us to foster. The other night at the dinner table, Gunny was even humming Wolfgang's Piano Concerto No. 21, all on his own, and fairly accurately (according to Brian). And when we watched little Emily Bear play the piano on the Ellen show the other day, Gunnar was completely mesmerized. He just stood in front of the TV like he was lost in a dream.
• "Whatchya doin'?" If you've noticed I haven't been on Twitter a whole lot lately, it's because I am that burnt out from this question.
  

When having a smartypants hurts

My firstborn has a gift of gab that regularly makes me smile, shake my head, or laugh out loud and/or temporarily lose control of bodily functions. But on the other side of all those comical quips are the occasional words that break my heart.

A few days ago, as I was administering morning milk and diaper changes and bleary-eyed snuggles as usual, both toddlers tugging on me and grappling for a prime lap spot, Gunnar firmly grabbed my knee, looked me in the eye, and said, "I want Annie's mommy."

I felt my heart drop as I looked into his wide, slightly asymmetrical eyes (same as mine). From the day the "new baby" became a reality, this was the exact notion I prayed would never cross his remarkable little mind.

In the short term, I squeezed my little boy and told him how much I loved him. I told Brian I needed some one-on-one time with Gunny ASAP. So seizing the earliest opportunity, I set out to do the weekly grocery shopping with my son instead of staying home with Annie while the boys hit the store.

Despite my two-year-old's clear craving for my attention, he initially resisted the change in routine: "No! I go shoppin' wid Daddy." Usually eager to skip out the door and climb into his own carseat, Gunnar had to be carried out the door and forcefully deposited into his seat by both Brian and me.

Gunny warmed to the idea as soon as I flicked on his Rocketship Music--one of Brian's classical CDs, by what composer I couldn't tell you.

I got weary of the food-procuring experience in the freezer section, still needing to circle around and grab bread, produce, and meat. "Gunny, Mommy really doesn't like food shopping, but having you here makes it fun," I confessed.

"I go lookit flowers?!" he reminded me.

Yep, that was the next stop on the weekly father and son excursion, and one I might have mistakenly passed by. Since it wasn't too outrageously crowded--and I was still feeling horribly guilty about that morning's remark and everything that must have led up to it--we circled the florist section three or four times. We leaned over and smelled nearly every bouquet.

"Flowers smell nice!" Gunny announced proudly.

I soldiered on through the rest of the detestable errand through an increasingly mobbed store, pausing to beam at my little boy as often as possible.

As we passed through the automatic sliding doors out to the steamy parking lot, Guns said, "We did it! Good job, Mommy."

Yeah, we did. Though I think there are still some improvements we could make. Next time, I won't Bogart established Gunny and Daddy time; we deserve to have our own special outings (which might conveniently not involve fluorescent lights and cart rage). Even if it's just to the playground or to feed the ducks, we'll do more Mommy and Gunny stuff as much as logistics allow.

And as soon as my firstborn is old enough, I'll let him read this whole blog. I'll let him see for himself that he was the one who made me a mom. He was the little boy who changed my life. And no matter how many children we add to our family (still most likely zero--settle down), I will always, always be Gunnar's mommy.

Tuesday night roundup--featuring two days without rain!

Summer finally graced us with its presence for most of this past weekend, which we enjoyed while attending back-to-back cookouts with friends and family.

So with an appropriate audience at last, Annie decided to become fully bipedal pretty much entirely on Saturday--getting around with purpose, even on the grass.


But neither kid can resist getting down on all fours for a raucous game of cat and mouse under a tablecloth (Sunday after Gunny's power nap). They played HARD that day, enough to get my hopes up that I'd get to sleep until at least 6 a.m. on Monday. I must have been high on propane fumes. We were up in time for "Melmo's World" promptly at 5:45. (An official Annie-ism!)


Gunnar continues to entertain with his inspiring take on the English language. From the minute I told him we were going to have lunch at my dad's on Saturday, he told us repeatedly, "I wanna eat Gwampa's house!" About a third of the way into our 90-minute drive, we gave up on trying to get him to insert the at and decided to go with it. By the time we got there, it was settled that we'd require a whole lot of ketchup and that Grandpa was going to have to find a new place to live.

I'm happy to announce that my son kindly filled up on chips and dip before taking one nibble of the foundation (or any real food, for that matter).

The best words I've heard yet

Sure, hearing my two-year-old say, "I uv you, Mommy" is sweet and adorable, but (especially since he likely doesn't appreciate what it means) is honestly second to this: "I need medicine for my face. It not feel good."

From the first sleepless night Brian and I spent with our nearly inconsolable firstborn at home, we've fantasized--often desperately--about the moment he'd be able to tell us his troubles.

Although we've still got plenty of detective work to come in the years ahead, it's been a major parenting milestone to get real, verbal clues.

The other night when Gunnar uttered this beautifully articulate complaint, his left cheek was red and hot enough to cook bacon. Burning hot cheek + "head not feel good" - signs of illness = molars. Finally--an equation I could solve!

I got my son some ibuprofen, snuggled in front of Play with Me Sesame until it kicked in, and took him back up for his nap.

And yeah, I got a heart-tingling "I uv you, Mommy" as I tucked him in.