Webs for Other Bugs That are Good

My son will soon be three. He still loves animals and books, but he recently moved onto the gold standard for boys his age: construction vehicles. Most nights before bath time, he's more dirt than boy.

Here are some more tidbits from the past few months:

We're setting the table for dinner.
Him: "That's my barracuda!"
Me: "These are my salad tongs."
Him: "That's my barracuda!"
~~~~~
"I watched a beetle with Wyatt and Narayan. But not DJ and Arav and Lily. They were mad."
"They were mad at you? Why?"
"I had a hammer and hit the floor. They were mad. And I said 'No thank you!' to the kids who were mad at daycare."
~~~~~
"No, Daddy, you don't sing."
"Why not?"
"I'm going to sing better songs. You sing silly songs."
~~~~~
Along with many recognizable characters from Seuss, Disney, Henson, and Milne, there are other imaginary creatures my son talks about as if they're real and everyone knows what they are. A partial list: the Backson (from this), the Snatchabook (from this), the Gulper, Grabular, Undersnatch, Spiny-Backed Guzzler, and Saber-Toothed Yumper (all from this), and Santa Claus.

I'm kidding about that last one, of course. He never mentions Santa Claus.
~~~~~
He is looking at a drawing of two chipmunks.
"What are they doing?" he asks.
"They're playing croquet."
"No, they're playing hockey."
"They're playing croquet."
"No, they're playing hockey."
"Basketball?"
"Nooo, they're playing hockey."
"Soccer?"
"Noooo, they're playing hockey."
"Okay, they're playing hockey."
"I think they're playing chess."

We're on a walk, and I've been carrying him for a while. I ask if he'd like to walk some more.
"Are your arms tired, Daddy?"
"Yes, they are."
"That means you have to carry me all the way home."
~~~~~
"I want to eat bulgogi."
"We don't have any. We're having pasta tonight."
"Put it in the bowl, mix it up, it becomes bulgogi."

(Note: He's never tried bulgogi. He's only heard of it thanks to this book.)
~~~~~
"Spider-Man makes webs for other bugs that are good."

(Note: He's never watched any Spider-Man. He's only seen him on clothes. Oh, and on one refrigerator magnet.)
~~~~~
And what would a summary of a 2-year-old's activities be without a mention of poop?

Grandma: "Let's go change your diaper."
Him: "No. I didn't poop."
Grandma: "You stink. If it's not poop in your diaper, what is it?"
Him: "It's..." (pauses to think, then looks down at the furniture he's leaning on) "...stool."

He is so much smarter than he has any right to be.

And Then The Professor Got His Hands On A Duplicator

click to view this photo in its full glory (i.e. larger)

About a year ago, I shared some Calvin & Hobbes with my son. This included parts of Scientific Progress Goes "Boink", which has a duplicator on its cover. He was only 1½ years old at the time, so I assumed he wouldn't absorb any of it. Little did I know...

For most kids, Calvin & Hobbes is a fun comic about a boy and his stuffed tiger.

For my son, it's a How-To manual.

The Wit and Wisdom of The Professor

The Professor has no idea he's The Professor. No one has ever called him that in real life. He may never have even heard the word. Nevertheless, as his tireless student, I watch and listen, taking notes...

Denise and he are discussing which animals have tails. The last one she asks is...
"Does Daddy have a tail?"
(long pause)
"Probably not."
~~~~~
Denise points to a candy cane and asks what it is.
"A reindeer stalk."
~~~~~
Whenever someone asks, "How are you?" he will inevitably answer: "Two." Then he'll hold up that many fingers.
~~~~~
"Mommy, look what I made in the living room!"
"What did you make?"
"A mess!"

He comes into the kitchen and says, "I want some more milk please."
I also want him to eat some lunch, so I ask, "Would you like some cheese, or an apple?"
He walks over to me, and taps on my leg with each word, for emphasis. "I. Want. Some. More. Milk. Please."

Clearly I have a hearing problem.
~~~~~
Like many parents, we began the ritual of kissing a boo-boo to make it feel better. He did us one better: While running around the living room, he banged his knee against the table. He stopped, bent down to kiss his own knee, then got right back to running.
~~~~~
"Hey guys! Go in the kitchen!" He then takes off for the other side of the house. His 6-year-old cousins look at each other, then get up from what they were doing and follow. Within moments, he's chasing them in circles around the house, laughing his head off.

It's good to be the king.

"I'll be right back."
He'll say this sometimes. He could be going upstairs, or across the yard, or down the sidewalk. I start to follow.
"No, you stay here. I'll be right back."
~~~~~
He's sitting by the front door at his grandma's house. Denise asks what he's doing.
"I'm just sitting here."
~~~~~
While Denise is at Target and I'm home with him, he sees a loose thread in a pillow. So of course, this is his natural thought progression:
"I have to clip this...
I have to clip this at Target...
I have to clip this at Target tomorrow...
I have to go to Target tomorrow."
~~~~~
He'll refer to himself in the third person when using a puppet. For instance, last week I asked what he did at daycare. The alligator on his hand told me, "He drove a police car in the village, and Marty pushed him."

He has wrapped his fork in his napkin.
"My fork doesn't like the cold."
~~~~~
"Let's go upstairs and I'll push Mommy's buttons!"
~~~~~
He has shown little interest in using the potty. Then one day he says what sounds like "Can I use the potty?"
Happy to hear it, I ask, "You want to use the potty?"
"No, you want to use the potty. I'll wait here."

Curses, foiled again.


...by the little man with the chocolate ice cream goatee.

By the way, clicking on any of the above images will fill me with immense joy (and allow you to see the picture larger). And if you're so inclined, you can view all of his latest photos on Flickr.

Not Getting the Full Experience

This is my 300th post (fact). And since I haven't shared anything about my son in over a year (exaggeration) I thought I'd do that now to start the year off right. Not only is he the smartest kid ever to wear diapers (hyperbole) and a half-decent negotiator, but come February he'll be the youngest U.S. Senator in history (outright lie).

He just turned two-and-a-half, loves animals and books and letters and Muppets and is so well-behaved my cousin remarked that as parents we're "not getting the full experience." No, we're not. And it is awesome. Here are a few snippets from recent months:

Conversation at dinner between 2-year-olds (who had spent all day together):
Him: "Hey, you have a robot on your shirt."
His cousin: "I have pizza." (pause) "I have pizza."
~~~~~
Reading an alphabet book to himself:
"J is for juggling. J-U-G-G-L-I-N-G. Juggling.
K is for kite. K-I-T-E. Kite.
L is for drink. L-E-M-O-N-A-D-E. Drink."
~~~~~
At some point he found a 2-foot piece of string. Every once in a while, he'll pick it up, hold it between his hands, and twirl it while jumping non-stop from room to room. As he says, "I'm jumping rope."
~~~~~
Talking into a toy phone:
"Hi, Grampa. Are you too busy? Okay, bye bye."

Our house contains several burrows' worth of stuffed rabbits. One morning, my son dug through a couple dozen of them and found the only non-bunny in the basket — a small stuffed bison — and immediately claimed it as his own. They were inseparable for a week, including at bedtime, so it became the first thing he slept with. The following week he added a lion cub to the mix. The week after that, a dog. Then Cookie Monster. Now his bed also holds a rubber skeleton, a bookmark with clownfish on it, a long-expired glow stick, an alligator puppet with hard rubber teeth, a seal, a small plastic Oscar the Grouch, and a little striped cat from IKEA. Every night and naptime he confirms each item is still there, gathers them all under the blanket, and hugs them tight.

If you ask him, he'll say he loves our cats Penny and Schrödinger. But not our dog, Sonya. Last time he told us this we asked, "Why not? Sonya loves you." The tears started flowing, and he wailed, "I don't want to love Sonya!!!"
~~~~~
He finally knows to say "I don't know," meaning we've reached the end of his Yeah Phase. What was the Yeah Phase? Let me demonstrate:
"Do you know what this is?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, what is it?"
"Yeah."
"What is it?"
"Yeah."
~~~~~
He wanted a cookie. We'd told him repeatedly he needed to eat his dinner first. He responded with, "No. Cookie first, then dinner." This went on all meal, and he ate one solitary bite of pasta. After Denise had finished and stepped into the kitchen, he handed me his plate and said, "Here. You eat it. I get a cookie." I tell you, the kid is quick. I didn't learn that gambit till I was six.

I often have his stuffed animals and puppets talk to him. Then one night, with a puppet in his hand, he asked me to read him his book. I pulled out the book with his picture on the cover (and photos of our family inside), but he said, "No, my book." He repeated this over and over, getting more and more agitated, until I finally realized he was speaking as the puppet (who has no mouth) and asking for its book. Namely, Where the Wild Things Are.

Now he regularly talks for his animals/puppets and has conversations with them. He even has a designated puppet voice, lower and more gravelly than his own.¹ And he uses his mittens as puppets.² Or, if he has no puppet or mittens, he simply talks with his hands.

¹ He's Batman.
² Lately, his left mitten is a shark, his right one a train. Because of this.

~~~~~

Well, that's my son. Click on any of the above photos to see them larger. Or, if you're inclined, you can view all of his latest photos on Flickr.

Give Her the Ol' Freudian Slip

I have nothing substantial enough to warrant a full post, but here are some various odds and ends (mostly odds).

~~~~~

Fact #1: The Professor (age: 21 mos.) is a quick study. Repeat something a couple times and he's got it.
Fact #2: I got bored with animal sounds.

Translation: He has no idea what a pirate is, but whenever he hears the word he enthusiastically responds with "Arrrrrrr!" (Also, when Denise warned his daycare teacher of another one he'd learned, this was her reaction: "Ah, that explains nap time yesterday. Everyone else had fallen asleep, but I hear this little voice, and he's there saying 'nombie brains nombie brains nombie brains.'")

~~~~~

In my new office, not far from my desk, there are signs directing people to the "Imagination Conference Room" and the "Possibilities Room." I'd make a wisecrack about having such things in an insurance company, but I'm too busy daydreaming of Epcot.*

* Okay, so I may have also printed out signs to post beside them, pointing to the Conference Room of Tomorrow. I only have so much willpower, people.

~~~~~

Times The Professor has said the following phrases without being prompted:
"I love Mommy" — 0
"I love Daddy" — 0
"I love TRASH!" — 123 (and counting)

~~~~~

Here's a bumper sticker for the psychology major in your life. You're welcome.*

* Note: not an actual bumper sticker. Technically, it's just a jpeg. To make it a bumper sticker you'll need to glue your smartphone to your bumper.

~~~~~

One of my fellow web designers recently received this feedback on a mockup:
Use more color. (Add more "white space," but not white space.)*

* Yeah, I have no idea what it means, either. All I know is she could have avoided the whole situation if she'd only asked for feedback, but not "feedback."

~~~~~

Also, I'm not sure if you'd call this a meme, a parody of a meme, a tasteless pie chart, or just a waste of twelve seconds of your life, but here's another image I created recently:

~~~~~

So, that's what I've been up to. How about you?

The Professor's Alphabet

The Professor turned 18 months old last week, and somehow he just keeps getting cuter.¹

One of his favorite things² is animal sounds. He knows all the standards, and then some.³ What I find interesting, however, is he identifies some animals by either name or sound (e.g. puppy, kitty, piggy, ducky, bear, owl, frog) but others only by their sound (e.g. moo, baa, neigh). He'll roar when asked about lions, tigers, and bears, but he makes a different sound for dinosaur every time I ask.⁴

Likewise, he's not consistent with his numbers. When he first started repeating them after us, he would say "two" after 1 and 3, but repeat the rest of the numbers as expected. He's since consolidated to solely "two" (for 1-3), "bive" (4-5), and "nine" (6-9). Unless he's subtly trying to get me to invest for his future in a 529 plan, I'm not sure what this means.

And then there's the alphabet. For this, I shall use a chart:

A	B	C	D	E	F	G	H	I	J	K
A	B	Ar! Ar!5	D	F	(silence)6	G	nine7	I	J	Meow!

After K/itty, he's completely unoriginal, although he sometimes points at himself for U and gives up entirely at W.

But enough talk. You came here for pictures. And I shall not disappoint.

¹ I might be biased, but I know it's true because I've gotten independent verification from multiple external sources. For I am a scientist. By which I mean I once watched Nova.
² Apart from shrieking so the cats flee, and eating fruit and cheese and crackers and tomatoes (which are technically fruit but you shut up) and bread and peas and holy hell we're out of food again. Son of a—
³ Including crow, donkey, monkey, and moose ("Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!")
⁴ Which, I suppose, isn't wrong, since I never specify which dinosaur, and we're rather short on eye witnesses from the Triassic period.
⁵ This is what I get for branching off to non-standard animals. Even though he's fully aware C is for Cookie — that the only song he's wanted to hear the past two weeks — for him the alphabet starts A-B-Seal.
⁶ He's already said F, so why should he say it again? F that.
⁷ He sometimes does say H, but H times out of 9 he doesn't.

And He Said Unto Them, "BAWWWWWW!"

Happy Halloween, everyone!

Will the Real Dada Please Stand Up?

For the past couple months, I've been telling people my son has mastered three words/phrases: "mama," "dada," and "uh oh". Only recently did I learn that when he says "dada" he's not referring to me.

I'll pause a moment and let you ponder the repercussions of that statement.

And then I'll ruin it by saying you're not pondering what I'm pondering.

Unless you were thinking his "dada" is a book.

That's right. A book. You see, when The Professor was born, we signed up to get a book each month from a Jewish organization called The PJ Library, because I thought my son should know more about our heritage than I do hey, free books!

The one we received before Passover this year was Dayenu, basically an illustrated (and Anglicized) version of the traditional Passover song of the same name. Of course, being such a devout Jew, I didn't remember hearing of it before. My mom, however, sang it to him when she babysat. And my son loooves music, so Denise and I learned the tune (via the Tube of You) and followed suit.

So, how does this book supplant me as "dada"? You might have already figured it out, but just in case, here's the chorus, which is repeated eight times throughout the book:

Da-dayenu,
Da-dayenu,
Da-dayenu,
Dayenu, dayenu!

It quickly became one of his favorites (only equaled by pop-up books), and was often the first one he pulled out of his box o' books to hand to us.

Yet I was slow (and/or willfully deluding myself); I didn't catch on for a while. Two weeks ago is when it clicked for me. I now realize when he's crawling toward me in the living room, smiling, reaching out to me and saying "dada," he's not calling for me.

He's calling for me... to sing.<sup>1


1</sup> In a related story, The Professor also started saying "nana" this past week. He's not looking for his grandmother, though. He's looking for his grandmother to bring him a delicious yellow fruit.

Professor Cupcakeface

The last two weeks, you may have noticed I've been ignoring my blog sweating profusely busy living. The highlight of the past fortnight: My son turned one.

Here are my answers to the most common questions concerning The Professor:

• No, he's not walking on his own yet. He is, however, an Olympic speed-crawler, a master xylophonist, an expert stair-climber, and the world's foremost daddy-climber. He also currently holds the record for fastest floor-to-mouth time, public toy division.
• Two and a half teeth.
• He is eating us out of house and home, and then house again for good measure. He eats anything and everything we give him, sometimes in greater quantities than us.
• Favorite food: Cherries. He'll eat them until he's purple in the face. And the hands. And the hair. And the ears. And the...
• Favorite phrase: "Uh oh."
• Favorite game: Going pell-mell for the dog bowls and trying to flip one over before we reach him.
• Favorite birthday gift: The card with the vibrating baby in it.*

* It's not a live baby. It's a picture of a baby holding maracas, shaking "what his mama gave him." I'm not sure if that's any less disturbing.

What's that? You're tired of reading my drivel and want to see the pictures? Well, here you go, you ingrate:

Bubbles!


He started off slow, taking one delicate pinch of frosting at a time...


...and then someone gave him a fork.


An aerial view of the carnage.


Fully sated, he cast the half-eaten cupcake carcass to the floor.


But then... remorse. Not over the devastation he had wrought on the unsuspecting cupcake, but because the rest of it was whisked away before the dog could share in his fun.


My son: The life of the party.

The Professor Returns

I haven't shared much about The Professor (age: 10½ months) since the beginning of the semester, so I thought now would be the perfect time to recap the last few months. I'll do my best to be concise, though, so you can focus on more important things. Like the photos.

The Professor basically has three moods. In order of descending frequency:

1. Happy — characterized by laughing, smiling, clapping, waving, cooing, babbling, drumming, and high-fiving¹
2. Exploratory — he takes things in visually, tactilely, and of course, orally
3. Fussy — brought on solely by hunger, illness, or tiredness²

He seemingly has a fourth mood, wherein he appears to be over-serious. If he stays that way for any length of time, however, invariably he is sucking on a tiny pine cone.³

Although he can't walk on his own yet, he has mastered the art of the double dribble. No, not like a basketball player. Like a soccer-playing baby.⁴

The Professor has also been diagnosed with Schadenfreude Katzenartig, a condition so rare I had to name it myself. He's expected to overcome it eventually, but basically it means this: Although otherwise empathetic to others' misfortune, he laughs his head off when our cat Schrödinger has a hairball.

And there, once you've take a look at the full set of The Professor's pictures (with the 37 newest photos at the bottom), you'll be all ready for the final exam.

I'm kidding, of course; there's no way you'll be ready, not after missing so many classes. You're going to fail miserably. But, if you still want to give it the ol' college try, The Professor put together this study guide just for you.


¹ His three favorite things, in order of descending hilarity: 1) swift shifts in vantage point (e.g. swooping, spinning, baby lifts); 2) tickle tickle tickle time!; 3) whatever the cat is doing.
² Extremely Put Out is technically an extension of Fussy. It is caused by minor injury, extreme over-tiredness, and extreme Daddy taking too long to give him more Cheerios.
³ This has now happened twice, but two out of two is still "invariably." The dog tracks these things into the house on occasion, and the little Professor — the proud owner of two teeth, I might add — keeps at it, working it around in his mouth, hoping the thing will dissolve like everything else he eats so he can swallow it. Last week, when this first occurred, it took my wife a half hour to figure out what was "wrong."
⁴ No, not like a footballer who drops to the turf whining about his ankle every time someone gets within a yard of him. I'm talking about two succinct dribbles at the same time: one from his mouth, one with his feet.