“My love cats, all the time.”

April 24, 2011

Yesterday morning, you rolled around in half-sleep, kicking your feet down my shirt, into my face, and laying them to rest on Dinah’s head.  Dinah will tolerate abuse from any loving human — she would have made a great mama cat.

Finally your feet made it back to my mouth, and I nibbled your toes.  You laughed.

Though I could have used a few more minutes to lie in bed, I was already getting annoyed at your rough touches.  Because you are rough.  And you are loud.

You say everything with an !

” ‘tend eat it Mom!”  (You yell as you hand me a playdough creation.)
“Go outside and watch Matches play catch Mom!” (Certainly not in question form, you demand to see Matthew and your dada playing catch.)

You ramble.

“Do you ant to see my new bouncy balls? They are so cool. They are awesome. They are in the car. Let’s go get them!”

You are polite.

I ask, “do you need a new diaper, Sam?”
“No shank you mama.”

You ask sweetly, “Please may I have more?”

You are exact.

Bringing your dad his “basketball cleats” from the closet, wearing one on your arm, the other carried along, you tell us, “I have one on my hand and one in my hand.”

Imaginative.

You pretend to eat, you pretend to swing a bat, you pretend to pitch a ball, you pretend to dribble, you pretend to run from the dragons swimming in the carpet. And then, “gotta go catch them, Dad!”

Demanding.

Sit down Mom. Clap for me Mom. Get up Mom. No, Mom! My want play catch Mom. My want so much, Mom. So much! (We try to use the smallest bowls so we can fill up to the top, as you demand.)

Excessive.

“My am wearing my glove on.”

Enthusiastic.

“Let’s do it!”
And my favorite — on arrival you often wake in your carseat after a short nap, shouting “yay!” and clapping your hands.

You are insistent.

No, my do it! My do it! No, my try! My gonna get the ball!

Generous.

“Let’s share,” you say, as you eye my snack.

Proud.

“Ta da!” (After just about anything)

Inquisitive.

“What you doing, Mom?”
“What is that?” (You say what instead of who.)
“Why not?”  I’m certain you learned this whining phrase from your brothers. You’ll even start saying it before I answer no.

Possessive.

My ball. That’s my food. That’s my ball.  That’s my car.  That’s my chair.  That’s my couch. (As you push me off the cushion.)

You are two.

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