Put the Ball in the Box

6:33 a.m.. My children seem to understand Daylight Saving Time better than I do. Before springing forward, they woke up at six. After springing forward, they wake up at six. So here we are up before dawn on a Saturday morning. Mommy is playing with the kids after a ball intervention. We have a lot of colored balls around this joint. Keillor was collecting them. He wanted all of the balls (stop laughing, Mom). In order to get the last one, he had to attack his sister with a full-body lunge. Now Aimee is playing "Put the Ball in the Box" with them. She's better at this than I am, as evidenced not only by the fact that I am typing on my computer, but also because I would have said, "no" and taken the balls away.

TERRIBLE? TWO?


While they are still a month and a half away from their second birthday, my children have mastered the art of "no":
DADDY: Do you want to take a bath?
SCHMOOKIE: No.
DADDY: It's time to go night night.
SCHMOOKIE: No.
DADDY: Brush your teeth.
SCHMOOKIE: No.
And so on. I am trying to ask them fewer questions.
In a move that is textbook "terrible twos" Emaline had a stage four hissy fit, followed by an acute tantrum in the middle of the aisle at Kroger. Complete with a full-body spin on the floor, she screamed and hollered like the child of people who "can't control their kids. They'll just let anyone have kids these days." In Hail Mary move, I scooped up both Schmookies and whisked them away to the car so Aimee could check out without being attacked by two howler monkeys disguised as human children.
There are many benefits to them growing up. For instance, Keillor is now sitting on the ground playing with a spinning light that Carol Hill brought him. He'll push the button and watch the globe spin around and light up. Then, mimicking me, he'll blow on it and let the button go, putting the light out like a candle. Push. Spin. Blow. Let go. Stop spinning. Giggle, giggle. Repeat. Equally cute, Emaline tries to put every object the size of a baby doll to bed. "Nigh' nigh'" she'll say, and cover up her bottle, or a plate, or the remote control with a blanket, napkin, or piece of paper. "Nigh' nigh'."

EVOLUTION OF THE TABLE

They are also sitting at the adult table. In the beginning, there were highchairs. These highchairs attached to regular chairs, but like other highchairs, they came with their own trays. This is where the Schmookies ate. It came to pass that the Schmookies did not like highchairs any more. It was decided that a Schmookie-sized table was in order. And lo it came to pass that Grandmommy delivered. This is where the Schmookies ate. It came to pass that the Schmookies began to notice that they were being segregated from their elders. They made the journey across the linoleum desert to the Mommy and Daddy table where they scaled the big chairs. And lo, they were happy Schmookies. A strange occurrence...occurred: they were strangely civilized. A quick adjustment turned high chairs into booster seats, and we are a big happy family.

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

For most of their lives, we have been fairly confident that they did not understand the salty language that escaped from our mouths. Not so any more. They are in full parrot mode, repeating everything we say...except. "I love you." They won't repeat that. I think they're withholding on purpose.

Keillor, March 2011

Aimee, July 1976

I have spent enough time ignoring my kids to write about my kids, so, as Keillor would say, "I'm out, sucka'"