Teeny Man

Even when he was a baby, Wiggle Man looked like, well, a little man.



This is him, inspecting his first train. Considering he still plays with it, it must have passed inspection.

Wiggle Man continues to amaze us. I'm convinced he grows inches every time he sleeps, and today I have proof that my boy is paying close attention to what he sees on tv. In a touching mother/son moment, we sat on the floor reading a book about trucks. Some sort of large, manly, dirt-moving type tractor was on the page, and Wiggle Man pointed to it and said, "George."

I was thrown for a minute, until I remembered the Curious George episode where George goes to the landfill, and drives a tractor very similar to the large, manly, dirt-moving type tractor in the book.

Then Wiggle Man pointed to his head and said, "hat." Because, of course, in that episode, George goes to the landfill to rescue The Man With The Yellow Hat's, well, Hat.

He's growing up so fast. I hope I can keep up.

Party Time!

Now We Are Two

From this:

To this:

Happy Birthday, baby.

Wiggle Speak

As we've been meeting new neighbours and friends, I'm noticing I've been translating for Wiggle Man a lot. This reminded me it's time for another installment of Wiggle Speak. So here goes:


Sigh: (No, not the sound, I just don't know how else to spell what he's saying.) 1. Outside

Das: 1. Thank you.

Hoo-hoooooooo: 1. Train. 2. Thomas The Tank Engine. 3. Sirens

Cook: 1. Cookie. (Not that he eats cookies, mind you. He thinks fig bars and animal crackers are cookies. I'm content to let him linger in ignorance.) 2. Tacos. 3. Cook. Eg--what does Mommy do in the kitchen? Cook. What does she cook for you? Chssssssssss.

Ba-Ball: 1. Ball. 2. Baseball. 3. Target. (Wiggle Man calls Target the Ba-Ball store, because of the giant red cement balls out front. He tries to push them every single time. He also claps and cheers when we tell him we're going to the Ba-Ball store. Mommy has taught him well.)

Nom-nom: 1. Food, usually Subway.

Tuuuuuu: 1. Two. 2. Any other number. Eg--how many feet do you have? Tuuuuuuu. How many fingers do you have? Tuuuuuu.

And to finish up, a little Wiggle Eats. We took Wiggle Man to a Chinese buffet for lunch today. My son? Wanted nothing to do with the chicken nuggets they had. Instead, he ate an egg roll (filled with the usual cabbage, etc.) and lo mein. Odd boy.

Another First

Wiggle Man is churning through the firsts this week. He said "bye" for the first time this week. And we had our first "procedure."

Here's how our story begins:

Wiggle Man and I were sitting on the deck Sunday after church. It was idyllic, almost. A beautiful day, a well behaved child...I should have known. We hadn't been out there long when Wiggle Man came limping up to me, whining and pointing at his foot.

I know, I know. He should have had his shoes on. Lesson learned.

So, I pulled him up on to my lap to examine the splinter that, sure enough, was sticking out of his chubby little foot. Using my super Mommy powers, I quickly grabbed the end of it with my fingernails and pulled it out.

Or so I thought.

Turns out, there was a whole lot more to that splinter. I had just pulled the tip off. What was left was like a small tree or shrub, stuck there in my little man's foot. He was not impressed with our attempts to remove it. He was not impressed with the idea of it remaining, either.

Once we got in bandaged up, Wiggle Man decided he felt better. Me, not so much. But I was hopeful that bath time would soften and loosen things up, and it might just, you know, come out on its own.

Not so much.

Nor would it come out after another "session" with Dr. Hubba Hubba. Dr. Mommy had no luck, either. Even Auntie M, with her nursing background, was unable to remove the shrubbery. So, the next morning we headed off to the pediatrician's office for the procedure.

Dr. D asked Wiggle Man where his boo-boo was. Wiggle Man obliged, pointing to his foot. Dr. D thought he was kidding...until he looked at Wiggle Man's chart.

"Oh," he said.

Yeah.

The plan was for me to hold Wiggle Man up to my chest, so he couldn't see the doctor poking and prodding. Hubba Hubba held Wiggle Man's leg still. Dr. D did his thing.

For 15 minutes. Maybe longer. I certainly wasn't looking at my watch, or anything.

No, I had to look into the screaming red face of my son, who chose this moment to say "Mama." Only it was more like this: "Mamamamamamamamamamamamamamamaaaaaaaaaaaa!" It broke my heart to not be able to do anything besides hold him, tell him every story I could think of, and finally just tell him Mommy loved him, over and over again.

20 minutes later, he was smiling and eating pancakes at McDonald's. Me? I'm still a little traumatized.

Hoo-Hoooooooo

You may think that a certain place with a certain famous mouse is "the happiest place on earth." For many people, I'm pretty sure it is. I've been known to enjoy a happy day or two there, myself.

But if you are not quite two years old, and you happen to be my son, then "the happiest place on earth" has got nuthin' on this place:



We spent yesterday at a local railroad museum, and even got to take a ride on a working steam engine. We also got to spend the day with Grandma and Papa (my parents), so Wiggle Man got thoroughly spoiled. (As is proper, for a day out with Grandparents.)








Of course, Thomas The Tank Engine has a lot to do with Wiggle Man's love of trains.

All day long we got to hear Wiggle Man point out the trains to us: "Hoo-hooooo! Hoo-hooooooo! Hoooooooooo-hooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

We got some interesting looks in the museum, that's for sure. And, when he wasn't "hoo-hoo-ing", Wiggle Man was screaming. (Also bringing us interesting looks, stares, and--from the parents of other Thomas-loving toddlers--knowing glances.) Yes, screaming. Big, giant tears of agony every time we left one attraction to go to another.

It didn't matter that we were leaving the steam engine ride to go to a entire museum filled with trains. Or that we were leaving the museum to go to a petting zoo. Wiggle Man doesn't exactly have the concept of anticipation down yet.

All he knew was that we were dragging him away from something fun. It didn't matter how much more fun he was going to have where we were going next--he was willing to miss out on that to stay where he was. A bird in the hand, and all that.

There's a lesson in that, I'm thinking.

WiggleSpeak

Finally, (or so it seems to my anxious Mommy heart) our Wiggle Man is learning to say more than animal sounds. So I thought I'd take this opportunity to give you a dictionary of WiggleSpeak, for those who may not be fluent.



Dada: 1. Daddy, of course. That's an easy one.


Pop: 1. Pop-Pop (Hubba Hubba's dad. My dad is "Grandpa", and Wiggles is still working on that one.) 2. Popsicle (specifically, Mommy's special blueberry-banana-yogurt pops--the only kind he knows.) 3. The machine at the farmer's market that makes multi-grain cakes (like rice cakes, sort of) and which makes a big popping sounds. 4. Pretzel dogs, from the same farmer's market. This gets confusing, as you might imagine.

Car: 1. Car, simply enough. 2. Uncle Carl, our neighbour and good friend.

Book: 1. Book. 2. Milk. (I have no idea.)

Bee: 1. Plane. 2. Blankie.

Gas: 1. Gas. Heaven forbid Mommy not get gas after a trip to Walmart--he doesn't understand we don't need to get it every time we're out.

Chhsss: 1. Cheerios. 2. Cheese. 3. Shoes. (Sometimes, you just gotta take it in context, and figure it out from there.)

Chuch: 1. Church. Wiggle Man does not like passing by the church and not stopping. This has less to do with his early spiritual leanings (although we do have an ultrasound picture where his little hands appear to be clasped in prayer) and more to do with the toys in the nursery.

Bech: 1. Beach. However, since he likes to say this randomly (when no beach or sand is present) this one took us a while to figure out.

Brrrr (or, beurre): Regular readers already know this one--my bilingual child is merely asking for peanut butter.

Trash: 1. Trash, garbage.

Pee: 1. Just what you're thinking, only more inclusive. Wiggle Man refers to, ahem, numbers one and two as "pee." You just have too look at where he's pointing to know which, um, number he means.

Stinky: 1. Yup, stinky. He especially enjoys telling us his feet are stinky. Sometimes he'll even demonstrate for us just how stinky they are by sniffing them, declaring them "stinky", and laughing hysterically.

He has a few more words, but I think I'll save them for another day.

Blindsided

Just when you think you have them all figured out: they become toddlers.

All afternoon, I was in Supermom Mode. I was sooooo proud of myself: I had a plan. A plan to get Wiggle Man to eat something other than beurre. Or animal crackers. I was going to get him to eat vegetables and fruit. In a single sitting. And he was going to enjoy it so much, he wouldn't even realise it was good for him.

This plan might have worked, had it not been for the terrible unpredictability of the two year-old (or almost two year-old) set.

I made mini pizzas on whole wheat crusts, cut up the veggies very, very small and covered them with cheese. Then I made us fruit smoothies. Brilliant, yes?

No.

Wiggle Man sat in his high chair for...I lost track of time, but for a ridiculous amount of time, refusing to eat. Smoothies and pizza. I would have killed for smoothies and pizza as a kid. I certainly would not have sat stubbornly at the table, refusing smoothies and pizza. Now did I refuse potatoes? Yes. Pork chops? Yes. Meatloaf? Heck yes. But pizza? Are you kidding me?

To top it off, while typing this I had to tell Wiggle Man not to eat the goldfish crackers. Out of the trash. They were soggy from sitting in the rain for two days. Apparently garbage is preferable to mini pizzas and smoothies.

I have a feeling two is going to be a fuuuunnnnnn age.

Presenting....The Cake

Drum roll, please.



I didn't get a good shot of a slice showing all the gooey filling, since my "birthday girl" piece was an end piece with all the icing.

So imagine all that chocolate buttercream covering yellow cake with actual fudge marbled in (not just chocolate cake--fudge, people) and two fillings: strawberry, and a chocolate custard filling.

Do you understand the importance of the countdown now?

This is why I jog, friends. Because I get this excited over food.

In other news, I did not get the one thing I asked Wiggle Man to give me for my birthday--the word "Mommy." No, his ever-growing vocabulary, which includes "cake" (he means pancakes, not the sugary goodness pictured above), and "Pop" (meaning Pop-Pop, or yogurt pop, depending on the context), still does not include Mommy.

I did get a sweet Willow Tree, though, and the faceless boy and his faceless mommy look remarkably like my Wiggle Man and me, so I'm happy.

Potty Break

What a day, what a day.

If you happened to be walking around a certain town in a certain part of Virginia today, you may have seen a woman walking hand in hand with a young boy, not quite two years old yet. You may have stopped the woman to tell her that her son was adorable--that he had beautiful eyes, beautiful hair. You would have been right.

You may have noticed the woman's hair was, perhaps, slightly less beautiful. You would have been right again. You wouldn't have known that the reason for that was she forgot her straightener. And her running shoes. Which has no effect on her hair whatsoever. But still.

(Fear not. I have it on good authority that the woman in question hit the local Wal-Mart to buy replacements.)

However adorable this mother-son picture may have seemed to you, walking around the picturesque town you may or may not have been walking around this morning, you would have had quite a different impression if you were in the vicinity of a certain coffee shop.

Had you been outside the ladies room of a certain coffee shop in a certain town in a certain part of Virginia, you may have heard the following conversation:

(If that was you, my deepest apologies.)

Mother: Wiggle Man, come here please. Come here, honey. Mommy has to change your bum.

Wiggle Man: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

M: Please, honey, don't scream like that. This is a very small room. Now come here, please.

WM: EEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

M: Now. Come here NOW.

WM: (Shakes his head no.)

M: Stop touching that garbage can. Get up off the floor and come here so I can change your bum.

***It should be noted at this point that there was no actual change table in this washroom, nor was there even a counter to do in a pinch, so Wiggle Man ended up back on the floor, where his bum was promptly, and with wet paper towels--guess who forgot wipes?--changed anyway.***

M: Ok, Wiggle Man. All done. Mommy needs to use the toilet now, and then we can go.

WM: Uh-uh. (More head shaking, followed by whimpering and tiny hands being held over tiny ears. Whatever you may think, this is actually about the noise of the toilet flushing. It's Wiggle Man's newest fear.)

M: Wiggle Man, come back here. Stop running around. No honey, it won't be scary. Please stop whining. PLEASE. Stop making that sound. Seriously. Stop.

The conversation continued in much the same vein throughout the fearsome toilet flush, hand washing, and purse-gathering that followed.

And then, of course, came my apology to the kind woman waiting outside, who I can only hope was entertained while she waited for her own potty break.

Being BH

In my ever-growing list of blogs I enjoy, you'll find Suburban Turmoil. Lindsay is not afraid to tell it like it is, and tell it in a way that makes you laugh so hard you may or may not just pee a little. Last month she linked to a column she wrote about Brag Hags.



The Brag Hag, a term Lindsay coined, is that mom who insists on sharing with you each and every one of her child's many, many accomplishments.



Well, just this once, just this once, you understand, I am going full on BH.



See this?

If you spend any amount of time in our house at all, you've probably seen Wiggle Man doing one of two things: eating a peanut butter sandwich, or asking for one. Now, Wiggle Man's vocabulary may not be as extensive as your child's. I'll give you that. But is your child bilingual?

I thought not.

Remember, Wiggle Man is half Canadian, and there's some French Canadian in that Canadian part of him. You may not realize what he's saying at first when he comes up to you and says "Brrr. BRRR!"

Is he cold? Is he mimicking a car? But if you grew up in the TNSAF (True North Strong And Free) and remember any of your high school french, or if you always read the french side of your food packages, you know that what he's actually saying is this: "Beurre." As in "beurre d'arachide", or peanut butter.

Yes indeed folks, my kid is spontaneously speaking french.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Nothing Better

Do you remember childhood summers spent running around in the sun? There was nothing better than a sprinkler on a hot day. (Unless, of course, you had a pool.)

But even then, there was just something about running through the grass, shrieking when the cold water hit your back.

Just looking at these pictures makes me long for the ice cream man to come driving by.

His First Car

Look out, world! Wiggle Man's got wheels.

Apparently, this is what happens when Hubba Hubba has time to kill at the mall (imagine how often that happens.) He'd been wanting to get one of these little cars for The Wiggle for a while now, found himself at the mall with some time on his hands, and voila. (I wonder if I should drop some hints about a stand mixer....or perhaps a new pair of shoes. )




It seems that Hubba Hubba and the Fisher Price Company have slightly different definitions of the terms "minimal assembly required." I think it's the "minimal" part they differ upon.

Luckily for Hubba Hubba, Wiggle Man was ready and willing to help.

He was even willing to take it for a test drive. Wheels? He don't need no stinkin' wheels.

There was no keeping Wiggle Man from this car. Let's just say Hubba Hubba learned his lesson, and now puts together any new toys while The Wiggle is conveniently sleeping.

Here he is, in all his new found freedom. Wiggle Man hasn't quite got the hang of going forward yet, but he does a mean reverse.

Beep, beep!

Paper Thick

Yesterday I finally tried something I've been wanting to do for awhile--make paper. The whole concept has been intriguing me for some time, so when I saw the Bill Nye Paper Recycling Kit in the clearance aisle at Walmart, well, I couldn't help myself.



I decided to recycle some of Wiggle Man's "art."



Step One: Rip everything to shreds (very therapeutic) and soak for at least two hours.











Step Two: Put the mushy paper in the mixer. Bill recommends adding gelatin to the water if you plan on writing on it.








Step Three: Give up on the hand mixer, and throw everything into the blender. (Seriously.) Also, add some food colouring, so the pulp changes from puke grey to puke green.

Step Four: Forget to take the picture of Step Four, which involves scooping pulp onto the mesh screen seen here, and gently moving it around under the water so the pulp spreads evenly. If you look carefully, you can see the heart shaped form that Bill provides, along with some other shapes if regular old rectangular paper doesn't quite do it for you.

Step Five: Cover the pulp and the mesh screen with one of these handy-dandy cloths, squeeze out excess water, flip over and peel off the mesh screen. Then put the cloth with the pulp on it onto the press. Cover with another handy-dandy cloth, put the top on the press, and tighten the nuts. Over tighten, so that the plastic snaps, rendering it unusable for future paper projects.

Step Six: Leave your very thick paper to dry. Apparently for much longer than the recommended 24 hours.

All sarcasm aside, I think it's a great project. Perhaps not as durable as I'd like, but for what I paid for it, I'm ok with it. I think Wiggle Man would probably love it if he were older.

Wordless Wednesday

Not Me! Monday

It's been a while since I've participated in MckMama's awesome blog carnival--Not Me! Monday. If you'd like to check our her blog, and other bloggers who are participating. It's like free therapy.

Here goes:

This week I did not have to chase Wiggle Man through not one, but two kitchen restaurants.

I did not eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

I did not let Wiggle Man eat an inordinate amount of french fries while we traveled, simply to avoid meal time arguments.

I did not sleep in my clothes one night while we were away, simply because I was too lazy to change into jammies. That same night I did not let Wiggle Man sleep all by himself on the air mattress because he was too afraid to sleep in the pack n' play in a new place for the third time that week and every time I rolled over on the air mattress it woke him up so I slept on the floor beside the air mattress and made Hubba Hubba sleep on the couch.

I do not enjoy the use of run-on sentences.

I do not have several baskets of clean laundry to put away.

That being said, I need to start procrastinating. While it's not likely I'll tackle that completely fictional laundry right now, I should be a little productive this afternoon.

Ta-ta!

Seeing How The Other Half Lives

A thousand apologies for my blog absence. Since Grandma's passing, and funeral, I just haven't felt up to it. I had my lap top with me the whole trip, in case inspiration hit, but...nothing.

Today, though, I'm feeling a little more myself. So I thought I'd share some of my experiences on my recent trip to the True North Strong and Free.

Living where I do in the actual "garden" part of the Garden State, motherhood can be a little different than the experiences of other mommies. This past week, I got to see how the other half lives. Well, the other third. Rural Mommy got to experience a little of Suburban Mommy's experience. (Urban Mommy is a whole other experience.)

There are a couple of things I'm terribly jealous of. Like parks. How awesome to be able to walk to a park. Rural Mommy can drive 2o minutes and get to a park. But it's just not the same.

We took serious advantage of the proximity of a great park to my parents' house. This is Uncle D, helping Wiggle Man down the slide.

Wiggle Man and I got to experience a Mommy and me swim time at a local pool. How great is that? Three dollars and a change room filled with mommies and kiddies later, we were in a pool swarmed with people. Wiggle Man wasn't used to all that chaos, so we headed to a less crowded part of the pool. Eventually, though, he settled down and spent a long time carefully pouring water from one toy watering pot to another.

This is cool stuff, people.

After that, lunch at McDonald's (grilled cheese and apple slices for Wiggles, nuggets and apple slices for Mommy) and then Wiggle Man spent a loooonnnng time playing in the play park. I was a little envious of the camaraderie among those in the "mommy circuit." Rural mommies generally don't have a "mommy circuit."

All this comparison got me thinking. There's a lot to be said for Suburban Mommies, and, while I'd love to join their ranks, Rural Mommy has her moments, too. Rural Mommy can take her kids to feed the chickens, or watch the ducks swim in the stream.

Like I said, Rural Mommy has her moments.

At The Car Wash

It's been a busy week around here, and is likely to get busier in the week to come. We have a very special wedding this week, that the whole family will be involved in. Wiggle Man will be debuting as a ringbearer. I can't wait to see him in his tuxedo.

After the wedding we'll be taking a trip to Virginia, so you can bet I'll have some beautiful pictures.

Until then, here are some pictures of Wiggle Man "helping" Aunt Shell wash the car.

From The Mouths of Babes...

Well, friends, Wiggle Man has started expanding his vocabulary a little bit. For the longest time, he said two words: "Da-Da" and "Uh-oh." He can also spout off a zoo's worth of animal sounds, but in terms of actual words, we were stalled at those two.

Bear in mind I've been coaching him on "Mommy" since he was about 6 months old.

A couple weeks ago we noticed Wiggle Man repeating the same word over and over again, but it was hard to make out what it was. Then, we realised it was actually two different words: "trash" and "garage."

This may seem odd at first, until I tell you that Wiggle Man is obsessed the the trash can. The only way I've found to keep him from constantly digging in it (and yes, sometimes licking it) is to let him throw things out frequently throughout the day. It seems to satisfy his curiosity, and let's face it: it's a handy thing, having a kid who wants to take things to the garbage for you.

I'm not sure what his fascination with the garage is, except that it seems to be a neat place where Daddy and Pop Pop go to get tools.

To recap so far: "Da-Da", "Uh-Oh", "trash" and "garage". This week he added one more.

I know what you're thinking: "Mommy". It would only be fair.

Which is why his newest word is "Aunt Shell."

Boys.

One Word:

Pre-school.

That's where I was all day.

Pros: The kids are energetic. (The day goes by super fast.)

Cons: The kids are energetic. (I'm beat.)

What's really crazy? Wiggle Man will be ready for pre-school next fall. I kept watching these kids, thinking that in just over a year, my little man will be as big as they are, doing the things they do.

Whoa.