Sometimes The Roc will casually drop words into conversation that we have no idea how he learned. Words like baseball bat, McDonalds, and Spiderman. Yesterday, he and Daddy went to pick up a prescription at our local drug store, which is right next door to our local donut shop.
"Mommy likes donuts!" The Roc told Daddy.
"Mommy doesn't like donuts," Daddy replied. "Donuts aren't good for you."
Later, Daddy wondered aloud how The Roc knows what a donut is, since Mommy would never, ever take The Roc to the donut shop.
Busted! No more donuts for you, you little traitor.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Mmmm...Puzzles
Today, at a play date, The Roc started demanding "more puzzles." We have a couple of puzzles, but he's never shown much interest in them before, and there certainly weren't any around at the moment. So why the sudden attraction? The Roc took me firmly by the hand and led me to the dining table, where a bowl of--aha!--pretzels awaited. I suppose a pretzel is a kind of puzzle: a mystery wrapped in an enigma, covered in salt. Yummy!
This Cow Has a Tail
Like all two-year-olds, The Roc is obsessed with poop. Animal poop, people poop, imaginary poop--yes, The Roc hallucinates poop. Mostly literary poop. For example, he is convinced that this pig in his Peekaboo, Bunny! book is pooping in the laundry hamper:
And this sheep in Sheep in a Jeep:
(Sheep in a Jeep is probably my favorite of all board books, by the way. As the Library of Congress catalogue summary explains: "Records the misadventures of a group of sheep that go riding in a jeep." And it rhymes!)
And then there's this cow on the inside cover of The Little Engine That Could: 
No matter how many times I explain that the cow has a TAIL, The Roc thinks it's pooping. As a result, I can recommend some excellent resources for parents of poop-loving toddlers. At Noah's Ark at the Skirball Center, kids can sweep up highly realistic lumps of plastic animal poop. (Bravo to the Skirball for anticipating the inevitable questions about all the poop on Noah's Ark.) And thanks to Uncle Dave for introducing us to the anatomically correct, animated quiz at www.whopooped.org, where The Roc got all the answers right on the first try and earned himself a well-deserved, full-color "Poop Expert" certificate, now hanging above his changing table.
And then there's this:
This book won't be released in the US until October, but I saw the British version (subtitled "What's in Your Nappy?") on a recent trip to London and I was genuinely horrified. On the plus side, it has flaps you can lift, realistic animal poop pictures, and a none-too-subtle pro-potty-training message. On the downside, it is a story about a mouse who goes around peeking in other animals' poopy diapers. Ew.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The Secret Ingredient is Paper
Ever since the recession put the whole $4 gourmet cupcake trend into perspective for me, I've been looking for a good recipe for homemade cupcakes, by which I mean one that won't require me to make a special trip to the grocery store. When one showed up in my e-mail inbox this morning, I decided to try it out, with The Roc acting as my sous-chef. I ended up having to make a special trip to the store anyway, for cupcake liners. I got the mini kind, thinking to myself, "The Roc probably shouldn't eat a whole cupcake." I should have been thinking: "Or a whole cupcake liner." He was on his third mini cupcake before I realized that he hadn't bothered to remove them from the liners; he just ate them, paper and all.
This Fish Has a Tail
It's very exciting when your toddler starts talking in complete sentences, even when those sentences include sentiments like: "Mommy smells like poop." (In my defense, he had just pooped on me, so technically we both smelled like poop.)
I recently took The Roc in for his two-year checkup. I dread these checkups, not because I can't stand to see my darling child getting poked with long needles, but because The Roc's pediatrician's waiting room has an aquarium with seven or eight tropical fish in it.
Now, I suffer from pretty severe ichthyophobia (fear of fish). Ever since I can remember, I've been nauseated, panicked, and downright petrified in the presence of these scaly, slippery, cold-blooded monsters. I don't want to catch them, eat them, get in the water with them, or look at them. I even get a little queasy reading One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish to The Roc. (Don't get me started on The Cat in the Hat. Will someone please get that fish out of the teapot???!!!)
Toddlers loooove fish. It's possible that even I loved fish when I was a toddler. But I definitely don't love them now. At the pediatrician's office, I want to stay as far away from that aquarium as possible--in the opposite corner of the waiting room, by the magazine rack, or, preferably, in the parking lot, locked in my car.
But we all find ourselves doing things we don't want to for the sake of our children. It's God's way of reminding us that we really do love them, even when they poop on us. I know I love The Roc more than I love myself, because I take him to a doctor with a fish tank in her waiting room, and I will even sit within arm's reach while he bangs on the glass, practically daring those finned fiends to leap out of their tank and destroy us.
On this visit, I was rewarded for my courage with The Roc's first complete sentence. He stared at the tank (which, as I've said, was chock full of terrifying tropical fish) for a long, long time. Then, he raised a chubby little finger, pointed at a giant yellow brute, and announced: "This fish has a tail."
I recently took The Roc in for his two-year checkup. I dread these checkups, not because I can't stand to see my darling child getting poked with long needles, but because The Roc's pediatrician's waiting room has an aquarium with seven or eight tropical fish in it.
Now, I suffer from pretty severe ichthyophobia (fear of fish). Ever since I can remember, I've been nauseated, panicked, and downright petrified in the presence of these scaly, slippery, cold-blooded monsters. I don't want to catch them, eat them, get in the water with them, or look at them. I even get a little queasy reading One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish to The Roc. (Don't get me started on The Cat in the Hat. Will someone please get that fish out of the teapot???!!!)
Toddlers loooove fish. It's possible that even I loved fish when I was a toddler. But I definitely don't love them now. At the pediatrician's office, I want to stay as far away from that aquarium as possible--in the opposite corner of the waiting room, by the magazine rack, or, preferably, in the parking lot, locked in my car.
But we all find ourselves doing things we don't want to for the sake of our children. It's God's way of reminding us that we really do love them, even when they poop on us. I know I love The Roc more than I love myself, because I take him to a doctor with a fish tank in her waiting room, and I will even sit within arm's reach while he bangs on the glass, practically daring those finned fiends to leap out of their tank and destroy us.
On this visit, I was rewarded for my courage with The Roc's first complete sentence. He stared at the tank (which, as I've said, was chock full of terrifying tropical fish) for a long, long time. Then, he raised a chubby little finger, pointed at a giant yellow brute, and announced: "This fish has a tail."
I, Kitty
We have an indoor kitty, whom I'll call Leroy. At least once a day, Leroy inexplicably attempts to escape the air-conditioned, cat-food-stocked comfort of our lovely home. Occasionally, he succeeds. But instead of running for the hills, he always makes a beeline for the tall grass by the tomato patch. (Which reminds me, can I interest anyone in a couple of tons of fresh homegrown tomatoes? We are looking at a record harvest.) We'll find him there hours later, happily munching grass.
The Roc looooves Leroy. Which is the only explanation I can come up with for what happened today.
The Roc and I are outside, playing in the backyard. The Roc apparently tires of walking on his feet, bends over, plants his hands on the grass, and starts walking on all fours.
"What are you doing, sugarplum?"
"I KITTY!" he shouts.
What a little genius The Roc is, I think to myself. I wonder if he's old enough to take an IQ test. And so agile, too. And so--wait a second! Is my child eating grass?!?
He's still propped up on his hands and feet, but his face is buried in the grass. I run over and pick him up. Sure enough, there are tiny blades of grass all over his mouth, and--ick--inside his mouth, stuck to his little teeth.
"No, no, honey! Don't eat the grass! It will make you--"
The Roc barfs all over me.
The Roc looooves Leroy. Which is the only explanation I can come up with for what happened today.
The Roc and I are outside, playing in the backyard. The Roc apparently tires of walking on his feet, bends over, plants his hands on the grass, and starts walking on all fours.
"What are you doing, sugarplum?"
"I KITTY!" he shouts.
What a little genius The Roc is, I think to myself. I wonder if he's old enough to take an IQ test. And so agile, too. And so--wait a second! Is my child eating grass?!?
He's still propped up on his hands and feet, but his face is buried in the grass. I run over and pick him up. Sure enough, there are tiny blades of grass all over his mouth, and--ick--inside his mouth, stuck to his little teeth.
"No, no, honey! Don't eat the grass! It will make you--"
The Roc barfs all over me.
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