Spelling Bee

Me: I forgot the training potty in case Evan needs it or any treats.

 

Papi: (to me as I drove everyone to dinner) Don’t worry I brought some c-a-n-d-y.

 

Evan: (from the back of the car) Papi, what’s C-A-N-D-Y?!

 

(Silence.  Papi and I exchange looks, and I shrug.)

 

Papi: It spells candy.

 

Evan: Oh!  I like that!

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Candy Canes in March

My dad and I pushed, pulled, half-lugged the huge, heavy cherry hope chest I just HAD to have when I graduated high school.  It’s a beautiful piece, large enough to hold a body, full of useless junk I should throw away.  We maneuvered it across the room.  Thank God the house is so small.  We tore, ripped, cut the plastic wrap and paper off it like some huge present from a distant great-aunt.  Like a huge Christmas gift from a distant great-aunt, the chest was wrapped in the most difficult to open way.  As we balanced the chest on its front legs, Evan and Sean came up to inspect our work.

 

Evan: I’m a candy cane!

 

Funny.  He isn’t wearing his normal candy cane shirt, the white, grey, red stripped one.  He’s wearing his navy Wall*e shirt because he wanted to be Batman today.  (No, I won’t let him watch the movies or the show, but Daddy turned on the show once in a while.  Hey, did you notice the seven in the corner of the screen, dude?)

 

Me: Really?

 

Papi: What, son?

 

Evan: I’m a candy cane!

 

Me: Why are you a candy cane?

 

Evan: Because I’m sweet!  And yummy!

 

The chest came down with a thud, missing my toes.  My dad wheezed a laugh.

 

Papi: Sorry.  I wasn’t expecting that answer.

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Sharing is Caring

Evan: Can I have some coal?

 

I looked where he was pointing.  It was the Hershey Kisses that were in his and Sean’s shoes two mornings before, but I had to confiscate them because Sean was eating them foil and all and Evan decided to have them after bedtime, ruining his plan by showing me the unwrapped Kisses when he came downstairs, instead of sleeping in his bed.

 

Me: They’re not coal, baby.  You were a good boy.  They’re chocolate.

 

Evan: Ok.  Can I please have chocolate?

 

Me: Yes.

 

As I unwrapped a Kiss for Evan, Sean’s spidey senses go off, and he ran into the kitchen with a “pleeeease!”  I unwrapped one for Sean.

 

Evan: Mommy, you’re a good sharer!

 

Thank you.

 

 

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The Second Child Around

“Want some,” Sean says as he reaches out to the hamburgers cooking on the grill.  His hand makes the milk sign of open and closing fist.  Funny, we only taught Evan that sign, which he used it for everything.  Sean uses the word “juice” for everything.  I was planning on teaching Sean sign language, but then Evan had refused to learn once he realized no one else used it to communicate unless it was with him.  Ha, he’s not a baby; he’s people too.  After reading Badmommymoment’s blog, I got to paying attention what was different with Sean.

 

Candy.  That was Evan’s favorite word at this age.  He always wanted CANDYYYY.  And we were the bad parents that let him beg and receive CANDYYYY.  Oh, those dirty, judgmental looks we would receive in public when Evan began to beg for CANDYYYY.  Even two of our single friends cornered my husband to register a complaint against the candy giving (don’t you love how single and without kids have opinions on how you rais your kids?).  Of course, Evan hadn’t realized that raisins, freeze dried fruit, and fruit snacks made with juice were not actually candy.  God, we were so smart.  CANDYYYY.  You want candy?  Here, have some raisin candy.  Mmmm, good. Except Evan got older and learned that a raisin was a raisin and a freeze dried strawberry was a strawberry, and of course chocolate and gooey sugar were candy.  What could we do?  But the draw back is that Sean knows what CANDYYYY is.  But instead of saying CANDYYYY, he AHHHHHHs, reaching towards the marshmallows or the M&Ms.  If you feed him some marshmallows mixed with freeze dried apples, he’ll humor you for a little while before begging for more marshmallows.

 

Ah, PEZ dispensers, the perfect toy for a child too young to have an action figure.  They have the heads of various favorite cartoon characters and perfect for toddler hands to carry.  That is until a grandparent (or in my case, MY parents) actually put PEZ in them.  Then the toddler realizes that they are for CANDYYYY.  Now I have Sean bringing me the PEZ dispensers, making his ah sound, forcing it back in my hand when I try to give it back or play with it.  Come on, Mom, I need the sweet stuff; just one little taste, Mom; come one, Mom; I’m your baby boy; you love me; just one little piece.  Now the Shrek, the Donkey, the countless Star Wars dispensers have turned against me, becoming instruments of whining instead of peace makers as they were originally intended.

 

With way too many small party, small choking hazards that they call toys for those who are three and up.  They litter my house.  Sean has naturally gravitated to Evan’s toys, and often Evan is seen playing with Sean’s toys.  Sean will sit for hours (ok a half an hour, but in toddler time that’s like 3 hours) playing a Duplo boy into the police car or police SUV while opening the car doors and playing the music (“We’re Tonka; we’re here to rescue you”! {Not getting the button stuck so you don’t sing for 15 minutes might help in rescuing me, especially if you got me some nice Advil}).  While watching him figure out toys meant for someone two years older is really cool, realizing that Sean has a marble in his mouth is frightening.  I don’t even know how Evan got to the marbles any way.  They’re not even his!  Sure, Evan popped coins in his mouth every chance he gets (but Sean doesn’t), but he chewed on them.  Sean rolls the marble around his mouth with his tongue.

 

The dreaded high chair.  Evan was forced out of his high chair at two and half when one of our friends was kind enough to buy him a booster chair for Christmas, so that we could put Sean in the high chair at dinner time instead of on a little chair on top of the kiddie table.  Sean LOVES the booster chair.  He scrambles up into it every meal, trying to convince us to let him sit there and just put Evan over there in that thing.  Right.  Granted, I have turned around to find Sean sitting in his high chair waiting for the tray and his food.  God only knows how he got in it, and we have the nice, hard Mexican tile.  But Sean wants to be like every one else and sit at the table.  (Another thank you to my parents for introducing this to my boys.)  Maybe I’ll ask the same friend to buy Sean a booster for Christmas.

 

Then there’s the TV, which poor Sean was born to.  Evan had a television ritual firmly in placed by the time Sean came.  Morning with Mickey for Mommy’s shower; Afternoon’s with Sesame Street for cooking dinner; DVD time before bedtime so Mommy could do her daily chores so she could get to bed early and stop lugging around the great belly that would be Sean.  During breastfeeding, the TV was turned on if Evan wouldn’t stop climbing on me, disrupting Sean.  So of course, Sean knew Mickey, Elmo, and Shrek much earlier than Evan. 

 

But not all of this bad first time parenting is a curse.  Like I said Sean has figured out how to manipulate toys that are suppose to be too advance for him.  While he knows what a treat is, he believes he should get a sticker for brushing his teeth just like Evan.  Now that Sean is paying attention to the shows, he walks straight over to the TV to play the games and solve the puzzles.  Of course he uses more sentences than Evan did at this age with his “Want that,” “Want some,” “Want more.”  And then he also says “Pease” and “dank u.”  Maybe I can get this Mommy thing down.  I just have to be a little looser than they suggested. 

 

Hey!  You’re not eating Yoda’s Head, are you?  Sean!  Don’t run!

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The Life and Times of Listening to a Three-year-old

Out of the mouth of babes:

 

Evan: These mints make me feel better!  They fill me up and give me lots of energy!  They taste yummy!

 

Well, that’s nice, but you aren’t allowed to eat candy before breakfast.  And when did you become a spokes person for mints?  Where did you get them?

 

 

Evan: You look pretty, Mommy!  You look like Jesus!  You look like God!  Daddy, you look like God, too!

 

Um, thank you.  And should I correct you of blasphemy, especially because I’m getting ready for church?  I think the non-ponytail is throwing you off.

 

 

Evan: I’m hot.  I ate some hot ball candy, and now I’m hot.

 

(Red hots?)

 

Me: Where did you get the hot ball candy?

 

Evan: In Mexico, at my birthday party.  At my Halloween birthday party in Mexico.

 

I would worry that my son is sneaking out of the house at night and hitchhiking the two hours to get to Mexico, but he just looks to Gringo to be let in.  Besides other than English and an unknown ancient tongue, he doesn’t know how to speak in any other language, so he wouldn’t be able to ask for candy.  Now when he learns what dulce is, then I’m in trouble.

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