I'm in the mood for a little verbal incontinence today.You should probably only read this if you actually like me. (Skip to the bottom for the quotes if you like my kids.)
I think relatively often about how I'm not great anymore about recording the hilarious daily happenings around here. Mostly because I'm too mentally exhausted to remember them. I tell people a lot that we were lulled into complacency by what people said about having a second kid--Oh, it's a cinch! So much easier than going from 0 to 1! (True in some senses. None of that first-time-parent self-doubt and terror. But say goodbye to sleeping when the baby sleeps.) Now when we tell people how we were lulled into complacency, they agree that going from 1 to 2 is the absolute hardest. Both parents are occupied. If both kids are sleeping when I get home from the grocery store, one HAS to get left out in the car while I take the other one in, and then after carrying 65 collective pounds of dead weight-with-crumbs-falling-off into the house I need to get the groceries. With two, you think you know what you're doing but--let's face it--you're really only an intermediate-level parent. And yes, I've assigned parenthood levels. Pregnant with 1st - guppy. 1 kid - beginner. 2 kids - intermediate. 3 kids - professional. 4 kids - expert. 5 and up - whale shark, and my brain just gave out because I'm a tired intermediate parent (apologies for lumping you 5-and-uppers into one group, and to everyone I just labelled a beginner/intermediate-for-life--totally facetious). But anyway, people always used to say that going from 2 to 3 is the hardest because you have to switch from one-on-one to zone defense, and for the parent at home there are officially way more bodies than she has arms. (The other day someone said that going from 2 to 3 was the easiest because with 2 you're already kind of outnumbered. I sympathized. Mentally, we're outnumbered.) So basically, the hardest and/or easiest thing is going from 0 to 1 to 2 to 3 but regardless, everyone agrees that going from 3 to 4 is the easiest (leaving this open to the person who wants to comment and say that going from 3 to 4 is the hardest).
What I'm trying to say is that my brain feels like a puddle of mush these days. I have to remind myself that this age that Oliver is is the age where, with ONE FEMALE CHILD whosleptthroughthenight, I seriously considered trying to find someone to come live with me in Okinawa to help while the PF was travelling willy nilly about Asia. (Beginner!) A lot of people already read this, but I love what this blogger (Whale Shark!) had to say about how the number of kids you currently have is the max you can handle right now.
So here are some Evaisms:
Out of the blue: "But be careful, OK? There's a monster going potty. In our house. So be really careful, K?"
Figuring out whether her new Playmobil set is outside or inside: "Unicorns live outside. Like lions do."
Observing: "Mom, what does your tattoo say?" (She used to call them "Your yetters" which was my absolute favorite thing ever.) Tracing her finger over the print on the top of my foot, she says "I thought it said 'fooooot.' Foooooot. Fooooooot." Clearly she has such a high opinion of my mental abilities that she thinks I've permanently marked by body parts with their names.
And some Ozsomeness (he's 9 months now):
He's at an age where he's not very quotable--well, I feel like the "Nanana" that means he's hungry" or the "Gheeee" that means he saw a picture of Daddy & Eva show up on the TV are supremely quote-worthy, but hard to put on paper, you know?--but he is seriously the light of our house right now. Uh, no offense, Eva. She adores him too. The way they play together is beyond sweet.
We were at the library the other day and Eva noticed an N in the letter set (libraries are all about toys now, not books, apparently). Oz was chewing on a book or something, staring into space. "That's Daddy's letter!" she said. Oz snapped to attention and looked at me with a huge smile on his face and said "Dada!" It would have melted the iciest heart.
There is a nightlight in our house that I thought would be a more attractive outlet cover than the ugly white baby plugs. (The first thing Oz does when he enters any room is stick his finger in the nearest electrical socket.) I thought he would ignore it, or maybe not be completely obsessed with it. So of course the stupid thing is like the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. There's always one when you've got a crawler, right? It is the object of his affection and endless attentions. I put him down on the ground and he crawls right over to it, yanks it out, and throws it to the ground with a fantastic clatter. So we've been working on the word "No." (For this and the biting. Oh, the biting.) Anyway, the other day I put him down on the ground, walked away, came right back because I saw where he was headed, and told him "No." He dropped his arms away from their hopeful grasping, said "Uh-oh," and crawled right away.