We recently completed a fun family competition of who-does-the-best-volcano imitation. I had no idea who won, but I feel like Lukas really lucked out for opting to not join the rest of us. It began with me, which is odd. You would think that one of the mini petri dishes would be the ones to bring this shit home, but it was the one person in the family that pretty much never throws up, ever. Even with two pregnancies I only ever threw up once and that was due to brushing my tongue setting off my ridiculously-sensitive-during-pregnancy gag reflex.
Kurt had just gone back to work on Monday after three days at home with a bad back when I called asking him to come home. The next day I was fine and Kurt went to work. That night the germy baton was handed to Kurt. He was up every hour on the hour. My plan for that day was to take the kids out and keep them out of the house while dad recovered. That plan was tossed out when Sophia came downstairs telling me her tummy felt funny and asked me if she was going to puke. That turned out to be my cue to rush her to the toilet and teaching her the fine art of bellying up to the porcelain and simultaneously keeping ones hair out-of-the-way. Who knew it was actually moms that teach their offspring the party years etiquette?
Sophia was hungry for breakfast despite her puking first thing in the morning and so I gave her some. It is better to have something to puke than to have dry heaves after all. Her usual breakfast has been one peanut butter toast and one cinnamon toast for the last few weeks, so that’s what I gave her. It’s a great way to make puke a little more sweet-smelling on the way out. It also shows up nicely on the yellow walls of our bathroom. There was no guessing where that round of vomit landed. Don’t you worry we have a few years to remedy her timing and aim before the drinking years begin.
Everyone was fine or in recovery the next day but I was so tired I didn’t clean the vomitoriums until the following day. I got all my supplies ready and received a rather surprising request…”Can I help?” Sophia asked excitedly. Yes, she was excited. She even requested to specifically clean the toilets. *wiping a tear from my eye* That’s my little girl. To Kurt’s amazement I had some yellow cleaning gloves in a size small for her. I intended them for helping with dishes, but hey we can start with bathrooms first. Good thing I got her more than one pair. (I don’t mix dish gloves with house cleaning gloves. Those are totally separate animals.)
I didn’t let her clean the toilets because I wanted to use bleach in them after the rigorous use they had just been through and I didn’t want her to get bleach on herself or not get the toilet as thoroughly scrubbed as I’d like it. She did the sinks, counters, shower, and helped with the floor. All done with vinegar.
My mother’s day began with a half-dressed Sophia waking me up, “Mom you have to be downstairs for your surprise.”
“Ok sweetie.” I dragged my groggy ass downstairs as per the instructions of my primary mini boss. I sat on the couch awaiting further instructions.
Sophia arrived wearing, for the first time, a dress I made in the beginning of April. I had asked Kurt to put the bug in her ear about that one. I just wanted to see her in it. She looked great in it and that fabric she picked out suited her style very well.
She handed me the gift she made at school telling me, “It’s soap” before I even had the chance to open it. I was busy opening the card that was two Sophia hands that. On one hand it read, “I love you” and when opened up had paper between the hands that read, “this much.” Very cute.
Kurt called her to have her help him make french toast for breakfast. “Just a minute she told him.” And she promptly changed out of the dress. Well, at least I saw her in it. I didn’t know that was going to be so short-lived or I would have had my camera handy. She said it was too “itchy”. I told her she could put a t-shirt underneath, but that was a no-go.
Breakfast was done and Lukas still wasn’t awake. We had gone up to the cabin the day before and he went without a nap, so we let him sleep in. At 11:30 we had waited long enough. We woke the drowsy sweat-head boy, fed him, dressed him, and went on our way to ride the historic train.
Just before we arrived Sophia asked, “Do they have a Disney train?”
“I want to ride a Disney train with flashy eyes.” (Flashy eyes is her way of saying eye lashes.) Oh boy. We passed by the train bone yard. Some very cool retired antiques slowly rusting away lined the side tracks.
We saw the train that we would be riding. “Look there is the train.”
“I don’t want to ride that.” Sophia said. Oy, this is going to be a long day then. We parked the car, stood in line for tickets, and let Sophia choose which car to ride in.
Sophia insisted that I wear a “hat with a hole” so that I can put my hair through it like a ponytail. She started doing this the day before and wanted us to look the same for Mother’s Day. It’s the closest she has come to wearing a ponytail herself since our trip to Hawaii when she was two.
That sign behind Lukas read, “For your safety and ours No climbing Staff Only beyond this point” This engine was on a side track that ran along right next to the tracks used by the tour train. I assume it was actually structurally safe to climb on, but that they didn’t want kids climbing up and maybe trying to reach out to the mobile train as it passed by since there was another engine off the tracks that had no such sign and there were kids all over it. With that in mind I didn’t think it a big deal at all that my two-year old sat on the bench looking seat there in the front.
After taking about 20 pictures of Lukas sitting there calmly and very nicely with me standing two to five feet away a
busy body nice concerned lady came by, “You know he shouldn’t climb beyond that point, right?”
While probably sneering and thinking, “You don’t even work here do you?” I said, “Yeah he can’t climb anyway.” He really can’t. He simply doesn’t have the strength, and I wasn’t exactly hosting him up in the air from five feet away.
“Oh ok I’m just covering my bases.” She said. Really? You know you’re just coming off as an ass you ever so delightful do-gooder? I mean I’m just covering my bases by informing you that I can fucking read and my two-year old isn’t causing any property damage nor putting himself or others at risk. Why isn’t she lecturing the parents whose children are trampling the new grass clearly marked off by the very beaten down plastic orange fencing? Oh wait, there are too many of those for just one lonely meddler. Bitch.
Just so you know, I didn’t actually feel angry at the busy body. I just like to rant. A good day was had by all despite the train not being a Disney one with “flashy eyes”.
It began a few months ago and has petered out a bit. I’m not sure how it began but for some reason Sophia decided that all the doors in our house needed signs. I think it started with the upstairs rooms adding her name to her room and Lukas’ name on his door. On our door she wrote, “Mom Dad” except she didn’t add any discernible space between the words.
She drew pictures of the bathroom layout for the bathroom doors and made signs for the closets, front door, pantry, refrigerator…basically no door was left without signage. For some reason she felt the need to add more to some doors especially her own. Her big sign reads, “Sophia I miss you Bella Mom Karen Mom Baby Lukas Dad”. Baby Lukas is then crossed out and on the addendum sign outlined in red it reads, “No Baby”. I think that’s the equivalent of, “No boys allowed.”
Prior to the crossing out of Baby Lukas and the anti-baby signage she had drawn what I thought was a flower and put it on his door. “Oh is that a flower?” I asked her when she showed it to me.
“No that’s a sun because he’s your son.” She replied.
I don’t think this qualifies as a word explosion, but Lukas is adding more English like vocalizations. I haven’t counted them out yet but the words he does have he is stringing together in two and three word sentences to get his point across better. We have 26 little books that each feature one letter of the alphabet that were a gift to Sophia when she was about Lukas’ age from their cousin. Lukas loves those little books as much as Sophia did and seems to have an attachment to one of her same favorite letters, “S”. He can point out that letter and say it. Of course he confuses the number “5” and letter “Z” for “S” but he’s two so whatever. He also knows the letters “O”, “N”, and “I”. In the “Y” book there is a page that is all yellow and Lukas loves to point it out proudly showing his knowledge and announce, “Leh-Loh!”. In a different alphabet book there is a picture of a yak with a yo-yo and he also likes to point out the yo-yo.
One day in March (3/7) Lukas didn’t want to go to swimming. He said, “hat”, which isn’t a new word for him, but it was the first time he said it without pointing to it on his head. I told him to go get it and then he happily came to the car to go swimming wearing his hat. The barista at my usual coffee place noticed I had a little gangster with me that day. Except during swim class, the boy wore the hat all day…sideways. I told Kurt about that and he encouraged Lukas to say, “yo yo yo!” Who knew that one could convert an ABBA fan into a gangsta.
Sadly Lukas has moved on from his gangsta phase. He no longer wears the hat all day everyday.
In the first week of February Sophia told me she could go the bus by herself. I was already outside with my coat and shoes so I just went with her. The next day I asked her if she wanted to go by herself and she said yes. On her way out the door she looked at me like, “You’re really not coming with me?” and then happily ran off to her bus at the end of the driveway.
When Kurt came home he check Facebook to see what has gone on while he was away and saw my post about Sophia. He asked her, “Did you go to the bus all by yourself?” Sophia, “Well I just thought I was bigger enough already.” He almost had tears. He was fighting it.
The following week I was still going out to the bus when she arrived home. After arriving home on her second to the last day of school for the week, Sophia asked me if she can come home from the bus on her own. I told her I would have to ask the bus driver, because he isn’t supposed to let her go until he knows someone is home for her. As I picked her up at the bus the next day the driver brought it up. Sophia had asked him herself. I told the driver it was fine with me if it was allowable.
The first day of the following week Sophia was getting ready to take the bus to school then suddenly burst into tears. I asked her what was wrong. “You have to talk to the bus driver so I can get home by myself.” Heh, already done kiddo. I told her I had talked to him and I’ll be waiting at the door for her.