Meet Gooey

Back before Easter, as I scoured the Internet for craft ideas, I fell in love with Family Fun’s plastic egg animals.  They were super adorable.  Since I was working with lots of plastic eggs, I thought they would be great. 

Alas, they did not make the cut for my blog because you needed to hot glue everything, no other glue worked, and as I try to make the crafts friendly for all ages, hot glue, preschoolers, and toddlers do not mix.  (Surprised?  I was.  I mean the boys just LOVE guns.)  Rather than pick a mouse, a dog, a cat or any animal the website had, Evan picked a tiger.  So he drew on the lines; while, I cut and glued.  It turned out pretty cute.  (No picture of the mouse and tiger because Sean loved pulling things off than putting them on.)  (Also, I think I can come up with more animals and do it through the year.)

Me: Great tiger, Evan.  It was a great idea.

Evan: Mommy!  I want to make Gooey!

Me: You what?

Evan: I want to make Gooey!

Ok, kid.  Let me think.  I let him pick the egg.  Blue.  I turned it so the thin end pointed down (or the bottom of the egg as my grandma calls it).  I glued four pom poms to the “bottom.”  Then Evan picked only one eye.  And there you have it, folks.  Gooey.  The twin brother of B.O.B.

Gooey and BOB

Gooey and BOB

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What do you want to be today?

What do you want to be today?

A pirate?  A blue knight?  A green night?  Kung Fu Panda? Tai Lung? Batman? A Striposaurus? A chameleon? A silver angel?  What?

Evan is finally interested in choosing his outfit for the day.  I’ve heard that girls start this ritual sooner than boys, which I tend to believe because up to a month ago, Evan only wanted to be naked.  Now he gets upset when I try to pick something out or help him get dress.  Except today, but that is another story about getting attention. 

To pick his outfits, Evan decides what he wants to be for the day.  Striposauruses wear strips; while the chameleon wears strips occasionally, but the shirt must be green too.  As Po, Evan wears his “Legend in the Making” shirt, and when he is a fierce snow leopard, Evan MUST wear camouflage pants.  The only pirate shirt we have has a skull and cross bones on it, but it’s not the main pattern of the shirt as in no one would guess he was a pirate.  That goes for Batman, which is either all blue or the one black shirt that has “NoTW,” which just screams vigilantism (maybe it does, I hardly let him wear it as I’m not to keen on the philosophy).  Don’t forget the silver angel, which is quite new.  That is a grey shirt, usually the Mickey Mouse one, and grey pants, which usually are the Mickey Mouse ones.  Of course, there are the robots shirts when he wants to be one of those.  Only when he’s a chameleon will he choose to be the same thing twice in a row.

The other day as I was trying to persuade my son that he can’t go naked like a lion, I started pulling out shirts.

Me: How about this one?

Evan: No, Mommy, I want to be an iris!

Me: What?

Evan: I want to be an iris!

Me: Umm, ok, mmmm.  What color iris do you want to be?  Blue?  Red?  Purple?  (Why did I say purple?  He’s going to want purple now, and we don’t own a purple shirt.)

Evan: Green!  I want to be a green iris!

Me: (I start looking for all our green shirts) Wait.  You mean Irisssshhhh.  You want to wear your green Irish shirt.

Evan: Yes, I want to be a green iris!

Then there are the shoes.  He has black tennis shoes, but those take a back seat to the blue cat-fish shoes that go with the Batman, the blue knight, the green knight, and the pirate outfits.

But then there are the days Evan’s shirts are too boooooring.  Then he decides to wear a button up Hawaiian shirt.  Then he’s better dressed than his mama, and I wonder if my brother’s metrosexual gene was coming out in Evan.

So Evan chooses outfits on what he wants to be for the day, and I’m cool with that.  I actually think we all do the same.  It’s really a fun way to dress.  Will I be the mean mommy?  Will I be the fun mommy?  Will I pretend I’m no one’s mommy?

I’ve started to give Sean a choice between two shirts, and while he is not as advanced as Evan is in his selection, Sean tends to pick things he can say.  He’s shirts are blue and/or have balls or cars on them.  It’s simple and effective.

There’s just one problem with their dressing.  Something that just gets under my skin.    It drives me nuts.  They coordinate!  No matter how hard I try to get them to look different an individual, they both end up wearing similar colors or similar patterns.  It does not help that some people think dressing my boys in the same clothes would be just adorable.  Please.  I want to different boys, not carbon copies.  Mainly because the world is not ready for two Evans, or two Seans, come to think of it.

 

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A Candy Cane Dragon!

Evan is finally taking an interest in what he wants to wear.   His favorite is his Kung Fu Panda shirt as he calls it, or rather a shirt that says “Legend in the Making.”  (Something about the legend part makes him think of KFP.)  His newest favorite shirt is a shirt with red, grey, and white horizontal stripes with Winnie the Pooh on it.  Evan zeroed in on the strips, calling the shirt his “candy cane shirt.”

 

The other day Evan was wearing his “candy cane shirt,” and Sean was dressed in a blue shirt with an “M” on it for M&Ms.  I was wearing one of my many fairy shirts.  (Yeah, I wonder when I’ll be too old to wear those, too.)  As we were playing, Evan had an epiphany.

 

 

Evan: Mommy, I’m a candy cane dragon!  (looks over to Sean.)  Seanny is a M&M dragon!  (looks at me) Mommy!  You’re a sour gummy dragon!

 

 

As sour gummies are his treat for using the potty, I look at this as a good thing, not as a critic on my temperament.  Besides, we’re all candy dragons in the end. 

 

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Sushi Names

For Christmas, Evan received an incredibly awesome gift, a toy sushi set.  He has played with it every day since he got it.  Evan is also in the phase of naming things.  He has named his sushi.  (We’re guess on what the sushi is since some of the pieces only look like real sushi from far away.)

 

Magurio (Tuna) is named Sushi.

Tamangoyaki (egg sushi) is named Juicy.

Sake (Salmon) is called Dooky.

Hamachi (Yellowtail) is called Hooky.

Hirame (Flounder) is called Sicky.

 

So we have Sushi, Juicy, Dooky, Hooky, Sicky.  And they all call me “Mom.”

 

 

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Little Bo Tornado E Has Lost his Sheep

Tornado E: I’m a shepherd!  Where’s my sheep?

 

Tornado E was carrying a long plastic tube with Styrofoam covering.  It was meant to build a fort.  He is obviously using it as a shepherd’s crook as he looks for his sheep in the front yard.

 

Me: Where is your sheep?

 

Tornado E: I don’t know!

 

Me: Well, let’s look for them.  Are they out here?

 

Tornado E: (With his hand above his eyes scanning the horizon) No!  I don’t see them anywhere!

 

Me: (It’s freakin’ cold out here) Maybe they’re inside the house!

 

Tornado E: No!  That’s silly!

 

Me: (idea!) I bet there’s one in the nursery!

 

Tornado E: No!  Not in there!

 

Me: I’ll show you.  If it’s not there, I’ll give you a piece of candy!

 

Tornado E: (considers) Ok!

 

Me: Come on, Tornado S.  To the nursery!

 

Tornado E: Come on, Tornado S!  To the nursery!

 

I ran up the stairs and into the sky-painted nursery.  I dug through the stuff animals that I can’t give away because every single one is Tornado S’s very favorite cuddle animal.  I pulled out a lamb given to Tornado S for his baptism.  Ah-ha!  I ran back down the stairs, jumping over Tornado S on the second stair.

 

Me: I found it!  I found it!

 

Tornado E: That’s not my sheep!  That’s a toy sheep!

 

Damn

 

Tornado E: (looking into the family room where my best friend was taking a nap on the couch) Look, Mommy!  A sleeping tiger!  Shh!  Let’s go outside and look for my sheep!

 

Oh no, not the cold again!  Anything but the cold.

 

Me: Look, Tornado E, a sheep!

 

I bounce past Tornado E and landed in the family room on all fours “ba”ing. 

 

Tornado E: Mommy, you’re silly!  You’re not a sheep!  You’re Mommy!

 

Me: Ba!  Let’s play hide-and-go-seek!

 

Tornado E: Ok!  You count, Mommy!  I’ll hide upstairs in your bed!

 

Two sets of little feet pound up the stairs.

 

Ba!

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Tracking Daddy*

Evan: Where’s Daddy?

 

I walked into the family room to check out how far the boys were in watching The Mickey Mouse Club.  I had heard my husband’s footsteps on the stairs on the way to our room a few minutes before; while I (ok, I’ll admit it) checked my blog stats from the day before.  (Ok, it sometimes drives me crazy to see the hits and where they’re coming from.  Sometimes I’m elated over the amount of traffic; sometimes I’m deflated.  It really sends my self-esteem through a roller coaster.)  But I was curious about Evan’s problem solving skills.

 

Me: I don’t know.

 

Evan: (Getting up and coming to the stairs out of the sunken family room.  Pointing)  Look!  Daddy paw prints!

 

Me: Wow!  Look at that!

 

Evan: Come on, Mommy!  Let’s follow them!

 

We walked in a crouch checking the prints, leaving Sean at base camp to man the radio and supplies.  We stalked through the jungle, looking for the elusive Daddy, who had just turned on the shower.  We moved pass the dining room, down into the foyer, into the office.  Evan was so sure he’s father would be working on the computer.

 

Evan: No Daddy here!

 

Me: (Seeing the disappointed look.)  Come on, Evan.  We must have been following old tracks.  We need to find the fresh ones.

 

Evan: Ok!  Look, Mommy!  Fresh paw prints!  They go up the stairs!

 

We climbed the trail following the tracks up the hill, down the hall way, into the master bedroom.

 

Evan: (checking the bed) No Daddy here!

 

We return to following the tracks through the bathroom to the shower.  Evan pulled the shower door open.

 

Evan: Look!  Daddy!  I found you!  I followed your paw prints!

 

 

 

*The regularly planned post was usurped due to a very unexpected morning nap.  Please enjoy another amusing antidote.  18 month year olds.  Geeze.

 

 

 

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The Tiger and The Mommy

 

Evan: Seanny’s a caterpillar!  I’m a monkey!  Now Seany’s a monkey!  And Daddy’s a Daddy!  And Mommy’s a Mommy!  Mommy, you’re a mommy!  I’m a tiger!  Seanny’s a tiger!  And Daddy’s a tiger!  Mommy, you’re a mommy!

 

Is it a blessing or a curse that I am always the Mommy?

 

I’m the Mommy Tiger, and my tiger cubs better finish their breakfast, including their milk.  Rrrrr.  Or no tiger cubs get to go hunting and play.

 

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The Arrival of New Invisible Friends

Evan: I want to go to Dave’s house!

 

Me: Who’s Dave?  Where’s Dave’s house Evan? (As I mentally scan my database for Daves Evan might know.  The only Dave I can think of is the father of the thirteen year old girl, who Evan loves, and they live two doors down.)

 

Evan: Dave lives in Mexico!  I live California!  Grandma and Papi live in Arizona!  I go to Dave’s house and get candy and ride a horse and play swords!

 

At first, I’ll admit, I was alarmed, trying to think of a “Dave” who would let Evan into his house and give him candy.  Did a child predator move into the neighborhood?  Should I call my Dad?  Should I-

 

Before I could spiral myself into a crazy-mother-frenzy, I remembered Becky, my imaginary friend, and I also remembered Evan has NOT been to any one’s house without me.  He’s three!  So I jumped off the crazy tracked and asked Evan about Dave, but Evan was silent on Dave until my husband came home.

 

My husband got the same animated description of Dave’s house.  My husband looked up at me with concern.

 

My Husband: Who’s Dave?  Where does he live?  When did Evan go there?

 

Me: (now cool and confident) It’s his imaginary friend.  When would I have let Evan go off on his own?

 

 

Then last night Evan got a new best friend, who he met on his second term of time out as Evan was a repeat offender.  It’s amazing how some harden criminals never learn.  After being sentenced for three minutes for pushing Sean, who was sitting on the arm of the couch, over the edge (luckily Sean landed in the laundry basket of stuff animals), Evan served his time and didn’t lose any time on repeating the incident by hitting Sean so hard he cried.  Sean is a tough little guy and rarely cries, so upon hearing Sean cry, I had to hold back the wrath of God (aka spanking) and calmly march the suspect, pleading his innocence, back to jail.  Obviously Evan knows nothing of probation.

 

At the end of the three minutes, I asked Evan to sit with me so we can discuss in brief three-year-old terms why he was in time out, but first he introduced me to his new cell mate, just recently released back into society, rehabilitated.

 

Me: Evan, do you know why you were in time out?

 

Evan: This is Gooey!  He wants to sit on your lap too!

 

Me: Ok, Gooey, you can sit on my other leg.  Now, Evan, why were you in time out?

 

Evan: I don’t know.  Gooey is on your leg!

 

Me: Evan, why were you in time out?

 

Evan: Gooey and I hit Seanny!

 

Me: (So Gooey’s an accomplice.  I didn’t realize the partnership was so old.) Is hitting Seanny nice or mean?

 

Evan: It’s mean.

 

Me: Are you nice little boy?

 

Evan: Yes!

 

Me: Then we don’t do mean things; we do nice things.  I love you, Evan.  Be nice to your brother.  (And I hug and kiss Evan.)

 

Evan: Come on, Gooey.  Let’s watch The Upside Down Show with Seanny.  Oh, and Mommy, Gooey’s blue.

 

For some reason, I’m picturing a blue blob slithering after Evan with great purpose and dignity. 

 

The next morning Evan introduced his father to Gooey, and just in case I had forgotten, I was re-introduced to Gooey.

 

Evan: Mommy, Gooey is a blue chocolate chip monster.  I’m a pink chocolate chip monster.  Gooey doesn’t have any legs.  Gooey is a candy monster.  Gooey likes candy and cookies.

 

Well, that says it all, doesn’t it?

 

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Big Boy Dinosaur

Evan’s imagination has no bounds, and depending on the hour and the day, he is something new.  Today happens to fall on dinosaur day.

 

This morning Evan came tromping down the stairs roaring.

 

Evan: Hi, Mommy!  Arrr!  I’m a T-rex!  Roar!  And I’m hungry!  Roar!

 

Me: Well, what do t-rex’s eat?

 

Evan:  Hmm.  I don’t know.  French fries French toast!  Roar! 

 

(Note: French fries French toast is actually plain, ordinary French toast.)

 

Later as the boys bathed and I busied myself with a few exercises (I have an issue with staying still), Evan BEGGED me to dump the sponge capsules his beloved Grandma and Papi gave him, which I agreed reluctantly, wondering what would happen if Sean happened to swallow one.  My fear turned out unjustified as Sean was just excited that Evan had relinquished his favorite bath toy, the pink squid from Finding Nemo, to play with the sponges, which slowly turned into dinosaurs.  These spongy dinosaurs would keep the dinosaur theme very much alive. 

 

As any mother with two small ones would do, I left Evan to risk drowning as I quickly put a diaper on a damp Sean, asking Evan questions in case he figured out a way to drown himself in 60 seconds.  Evan was alive as I grabbed the toys out of the bath and unplugged the drain, making sure no sponge dinosaurs were sucked into the deadly whirlpool and potentially causing us to fork out large sums of money to a plumber.  Evan again BEGGED me to leave the dinosaurs on the side of the tub as he laid down in the last of the water, soaking it up.  As soon as Evan was pulled from an empty bath and dried, he turned to his dinosaurs.

 

Evan: Baby dinosaurs, are you ok?  Did you have fun with Mommy?  Yes, I know; she’s fun!

 

Of course, we are in dinosaur stage three, which means Evan rejected the shirt options I laid out, insisting that dinosaurs run around naked.  (Note: According to Evan, monkeys and skeletons run around naked as well.)  I wrestle Evan into a dinosaur shirt, hoping he would wear for the picture.  At least he didn’t wrestle it off.

 

As the morning progress, I left the boys to watch Mickey as I jumped into the shower.  Because Mickey entertains my boys so well, I took my time to inhale my one morning joy, sweet pea shower gel.  It’s really the only reason I wake up.  That and the boys. And all the other mom and homemaker stuff that needs to be done.

 

I came down to Sean whining and to find Evan laying on him.  I grabbed Evan and asked if Sean was happy or sad.

 

Evan: Sad.

 

Me: Did Sean like it when you were on top of him?  (Squeezing him.  You’re lucky that you only have five pounds or so on him or I would really be mad.)

 

Evan: No.

 

Me: Then don’t lay on him.  You’re too big.  (Haven’t we been over this before?  Over and over?)

 

Evan: But we were playing!

 

Me: What were you playing? (Squish your baby brother?)

 

Evan: We were playing dinosaurs!

 

Me: Oh, really?  (Please enlighten us with your logic of how slowly suffocating your baby brother is playing dinosaurs when you don’t even know they ate each other.)

 

Evan: That’s how dinosaurs play!  You’re the mommy dinosaur!  I’m the big boy dinosaur!  And Seanny’s the baby dinosaur!

 

Me:  Big brother dinosaurs protect baby dinosaurs.  They play with them nice.  They don’t lay on them.

 

Evan: Oh!  Seanny dinosaur wants to play with a ball.  Is that ok?

 

Me: Yes.

 

And it occurred to me that this will be a LONG day, where I will desperately need some chocolate.  Since my stash is being quickly depleted (Thank God for Halloween!), I might just have to make some brownies.

Miscommunication

Evan: We’re playing taddette’s game!

 

Me: Taddette’s game?

 

Evan: No!   Toaddette’s game!

 

Me: Oh, toaddette’s game.

 

Evan: No!  toette’s game!

 

Me: Toette’s game?

 

Evan: No!  Toe-ES game, not toette’s game.

 

Me: Oh, Toe-ES game.

 

Evan: Yes, toe-es game.  You want to play toe-es game with me.  Let’s play.

 

Unfortunately I still do not have any clue what a toe-es is or how to play toe-es game.  Because as soon as we came to an agreement on how to pronounce said game, Evan immediately started jumping on the coach as the phone rang.  If any one knows of this new three-year-old’s version of a game, let me know.  I will assume you have a PhD in ancient cultures and tongues and have done years of field studies of young children, their linguistics, and their games and rituals.