"Dazz good book" and Other Non Sequiturs

So the day started off as it typically does (albeit an hour earlier, thanks DLST, suck it), with JD inviting me to come into his room and join in the fun: "Mommy play trucks? Mommy play trucks. Mommy play trucks, yes! Mommy play trucks, YES! MOMMY PLAY TRUCKS YES! MOMMY YES PLAY TRUCKS YES! YES MOMMY PLAY TRUCKS! PLAAAAAAAAYYYYY TRUUUUUUCCCCKKKKSSS YEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!!!" Charming, isn't it? All in the time it takes me to walk (nay, run) five steps across the apartment into his room.

Anyway, I sat down to "play trucks", and, since, you know, I'm not allowed to actually touch any of the trucks, my whole role in "Mommy play trucks" being just to sit there and admire JD as JD plays trucks... I started to peruse the new Land Of Nod catalog, chock full of shiny holiday toys. JD noticed a page full of...Trucks...and crawled into my lap to have a look. He narrated the rest of the catalog: "Oooh truck! Oh-man-oh-man! Oooh train! Pretty cool pretty cool! Oooh bike! Oh-man-oh-man! Ooooh wagon!" and so on and so on... When we had flipped to the last page, he turned to me with a radiant smile and said, "Dazz good book! Read it aaa-gain?"


And now, the Non Sequiturs:

JD was in the bathtub, playing with two rubber duckies. He sat them up on the ledge of the tub and turned them to face each other. Then he pushed them up beak-to-beak. "Duckies kissing!" he informed me. "Mommy duck, daddy duck. Kissing!" Where he learned that, God only knows. I often worry that Dave and I aren't demonstratively affectionate enough to appropriately model the archetype of a loving, healthy, symbiotic, stable, mature and nurturing relationship for our young impressionable offspring, thereby ruining him for any and all future relationships and necessitating years of therapy. Apparently, we're doing OK.

JD was "coloring" (by which, I mean that he was taking all of his crayons and putting them inside his potty chair. Don't worry, he's never actually sat upon said potty chair, so it's all good.) and the purple crayon broke in half. He handed it to me and said, "Mommy fix it." I explained that he was S.O.L., once a crayon's broke, it's broke. He digested this, but remained undeterred. After several hundred loud "Mommy fix it, yes!" requests did not produce the desired outcome, he was hit with a new inspiration. "Daddy fix it!" And off he trotted, crayon in hand...

JD throws temper tantrums. Quite often. I've been encouraging him, in lieu of screaming, kicking, and flailing about, to express his frustration and/or dismay with words. Specifically, I tell him to "Tell Mommy, 'I'm Mad!'" He has not yet actually told Mommy "I'm mad" instead of freaking out, but the other day, as we were walking down the street on the way to music class, he randomly began to chant, "Tell Mommy I'm mad! Tell Mommy I'm MAD! Tell Mommy I'm MAAAAAAD!!" I remain hopeful.

JD is the boss of Shank. He spends all day telling that dog what to do. "Shank lay down!" "Shank get on bed!" "Shank no barking!" "Shank no squirrels!" and my personal favorite, "STOP!" He even dictates what toys Shank should play with, and when. I saw him chasing Shank across the living room the other day, trying to force a Nylabone into the poor dog's mouth.

And in the interest of saving the best for last, my final non sequitur speaks for itself:


I'm not promising to NaBloPo or whatever, but I will try to post more frequently in November. I miss my blog!