When jumping into the pool, his dad has taught him to say "Cowabunga!" Except, to his ears, it sounds better to say something a bit different, but in the same spirit. Thus, everyone in our cul-de-sac is treated to repeated yells of "HUNGA BUNGA!"
I will pay anybody 50 bucks who can give me a piece of advice to get this kid to pee in the potty. Poop he's got down perfectly. But the pee, he says assuredly, "I can go pee pee in my pull-up, it's ok."
He likes to play something he calls "Mailbox." Mailbox is a charming pastime in which he pops all of the books in his living room bookcase into the space in between the couch and the end table. There are a good 40 plus books in that particular bookcase. Needless to say, Mommy is not too fond of "Mailbox."
Lately when I tell him that I love him, he tells me, "I love you too" and it just makes me melt like pancake makeup in the summer.
From one moment to the next, I never know what persona I am supposed to be. It changes with lightning fluidity. One second I am one of the lizards outside, the next I am Wendy, and then suddenly I am supposed to be grandma on the phone. I am scolded when I say the wrong thing in the wrong voice. "But you are Farmer Pickles Mama!" I am feeling a bit schizo lately.
When he goes to bed, his plush Bob the Builder must be with him. When it is time to tuck in, Bob must always be tucked in as well, with the sheets just up to his neck.
Hubba-hubba has come up with an admirable new game. He has named it "Treasure Map." In order to play this game, Mr. Personality must follow all the orders in order to find the treasure. Usually, this includes picking up his toys and doing small chores. Then, finally, he gets the orders which will point him to an old jewelry box with a dollar bill in it. Mr. Personality thinks this is the best thing since sliced bread. I wonder exactly how long it will take him to figure it out.
Our favorite Raffi CD having been turned into the library (2 weeks overdue), I checked out another for the sake of variety. In the car on the way to the circus, he explained to grandpa that this CD we were listening to was not "Rise and Shine." I said, "No, this is a different one." Grandpa stated expansively, "That's ok, different can be good, right Mr. Personality?" After a perfect two-beat silence, Mr. Personality piped up with, "Yeah, but different can be bad, too."