The middle fumb - update

Ok, so I was duped by a 2.5 year old.

Yesterday, when we were leaving daycare and I was buckling little hugs up in the car, I decide to revisit the middle fumb.

So, I hold up my hand, and pointing at my pinkie, I ask, "What is this?". "A finger". Simple enough, so I move on, one by one, until I get to the thumb - "finger, finger, finger, fumb". Correct. I decide to go backwards, starting with the thumb - "thumb, finger, finger, finger, finger". Correct again.

Then, I state, "Yesterday, you said this was a finger", pointing at my thumb, "and this was my middle thumb", pointing at my middle finger.

Laughter, then "Oh, I was just jokin', I a silly gwirl" (not girl, she says gwirl).

A silly girl indeed. She was so adamant the night before, I totally bought it.

And I'll admit it, this is not the first time she's tricked me into believing something as part of her silliness. It is amazing how great (and intelligent) a sense of humor she has at such a young age.

The middle fumb

Last night, little hugs and I were playing around. She was sitting in my lap, facing me, and we were both being silly.

I had taken her pacifier, mainly because I can't understand her when she talks with it in her mouth, but also because we are really trying to limit her use of it. I had the loop of it around my thumb until she decided she had to have it back and she twisted it off, which actually hurt. I decided to play it up a little bit - "Owww, you hurt my thumb, make it feel better. "

Looking very concerned, she said "Let me see, where does it hurt". "Right here, on my thumb", pointing to a red spot on the top of my left thumb.

"That's not a fumb, that's a finger", then kissing it, "now its all better."

I decide to turn this into a lesson and, taking her hand and pointing to her thumb, I say, "this is your thumb and these are fingers, the thumb is a special finger, you have five fingers", and pointing to each, I count, "one, two, three, four, five ... see, five fingers."

"No mommy", holding my hand and pointing at my thumb, "this, is a finger, your fumb is in the middle, right here", pointing to my middle finger.

Of course, I feel like this needs to be corrected so I explain that the thumb is the thumb and its also a finger, just a shorter finger and, (again) you have five fingers on your hand.

But, being little hugs, she is always right and you can not convince her otherwise. She went on to explain, with all the seriousness in the world, that my thumb, was actually a finger, and "this is the middle fumb."

I'm sure we'll revisit this until we get things straightened out but I couldn't continue last night. I was trying desperately not to laugh and could not argue with such a sweet girl and the cuteness of the "middle fumb".

The evil weasel?

So, this morning on the way to daycare and work, the shmoo asked me to tell him more about "the evil weasel".

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about so I asked if that was some type of story he heard at school and was surprised by the response - "No, you told me about him."

"I don't remember that story, was it a book or something we saw on TV?"

"No, it was a telling story." We tell him a made-up story every night before he goes to bed. They are usually about super-heroes or special agents. Every once in a while I convince him that a true story from my childhood would be entertaining.

"Oh, it must be a story Dad told you, I don't know about Dad's stories."

"No, mom (add attitude and frustration), it was one of your stories, you have to remember".

"Well, I've told you a lot of stories and we've read a lot of books and I don't remember everything, maybe you can tell me more about this evil weasel".

"You told me how he only wants to do bad stuff and he wants other people to do bad stuff".

"I'm sorry but I still don't remember, anything else?"

"Ugh... mom, you have to remember the weasel, I want to know more about him, he's God's nemesis".

"I think you mean the devil".

"Oh, yea, the devil. Why does he want to be a bad guy?"

Who knows where "evil weasel" came from. I was totally confused. We talked about the devil months and months ago, I don't even remember why but now I'm surprised it took so long to come up again.

What almost five year old uses words like "nemesis"?!? He also likes to say things like "apparently" and "injured" (vs hurt). Kindergarten is going to be fun!

A little ice skating ...

... maybe more like ice sliding.

Tuesday evening, it started to sleet. We already had a couple of inches of snow so this was adding a nice, hard, crusty top to everything. By Wednesday morning, we had close to a half inch of ice and all the schools in the area were closed. I really needed to be in the office for a 10am meeting so, we headed out, as usual, in the minivan. Our neighborhood streets were a mess. I would never have believed anyone had even tried to plow them if I hadn't seen the snowplow myself.

I took it slow and got to the main streets without incident. The roads looked clear and I even called the hubby to let him know that, regardless of the fact the news was begging people to stay home, it was safe to travel to work, should he chose to go into the office.

I was pretty surprised when I got to daycare and saw that like our neighborhood, no one had made a dent in the parking lot ice. There was a small path from the parking lot to the front door that had been shoveled but, of course, no parking spaces anywhere nearby. I parked as close as I could - in the handicap spot - which is completely not like me but, I wanted to limit the amount of ice I would have to cross with both the shmoo and little hugs.

I got both kids out of same side of the van, holding little hugs, and squeezing the shmoo's hand. We managed to get to the sidewalk pretty easily but that is where the problem began. I asked the shmoo to carefully step up onto the sidewalk, which he did, and instantly slid off. Luckily, I was holding him tightly enough that neither knees nor bottom hit the ground. This is about the time another mother came out and decided to help by telling me, "be careful, its really slippery", "yes, I know", I responded, all while trying to get the shmoo up onto the sidewalk and keep from slipping and dropping little hugs.

Finally, the shmoo gets on the sidewalk. Success, but short lived. Every step, he slips and, while not falling, isn't going anywhere, he just slides back to where he started.

Helpful mom says "its really slippery", "yes, I know", "but, its really, really slippery, be careful". Again, "yes, I know". So, now she tries to provide some useful information, "but its really slippery and you are holding a baby". After a deep breath, I finally look at her and calmly respond, "yes, I know". Helpful mom finally realizes, she's not really being helpful and states, "yea, I guess you know its slippery and you know you're holding a baby, that was really dumb of me", "yes, I know" - only this time, my response was in my head and she finally stops watching us and gets in her car.

I suddenly realize that our current strategy is getting us nowhere and I have a brilliant idea. I tell the shmoo to carefully put his hands on the ground and start trying to crawl towards the grass (between the building and the sidewalk). This new idea seems promising as he gains a couple of centimeters so, I give him a push to slide him the rest of the way. And, even though I tell him (almost daily) "Do NOT walk in the garden", I say "today, you need to walk in the garden, stomp through the ice and snow until you get to the part of the sidewalk that is shoveled". He followed my directions exactly - making sure to stomp hard and enjoyed every moment. Best thing all week. I know this because he told every single person he saw - parent, teacher, director, fellow children - that his mom never lets him walk in the garden but today he got to stomp the ice all the way through it. Yea mom.

When I couldn't step up onto the sidewalk (and I was not about to crawl), I decided to take a different route - I walked through the parking lot, making sure to step only on the broken ice, where I could break through, until I got as close as possible to the shoveled walk. Now, why didn't I think of that earlier?

I really like snow. I think if its going to be cold, everything should be covered in snow but, I could do without the ice.

Stay warm.

Angry

(still catching up - started Monday, posted Thursday)

Saturday night, we went to the birthday party of my college roommate's three year old son. They live an hour away so its a long drive but worth it to see a bunch of friends. Neither kid took a nap that day, not at home, and, unbelievably, not in the car, because neither one of them would stop talking.

The party was fun - lots of kids, good friends, and a ton of fantastic food, as always. The kids were loud and crazy and they had a blast, which is all that really matters when you're talking about a kid's party. It was nice to see our friends and visit. All in all, a fun but uneventful trip.

Until the ride home.

I wouldn't really say it was eventful, maybe just amusing.

By the time we left the party, both kids were in their pjs and it was 8:30pm - past little hugs bedtime and about the time we try to head upstairs with the shmoo. Without a nap and all the running around, both kids were exhausted. Or so you would think. The shmoo started fading as soon as the car started moving but, little hugs wouldn't stop talking - again. We watched as shmoo's eyes closed, then popped open, again and again.

Finally, dad says, very nicely, I might add, "you need to hush" to which little hugs responds, "don't make me an-gee, guys (pause) don't make me an-gee (pause, then accentuating each word) don't tell me to be quiet!". We do everything we can to contain our giggles and say nothing.

At this point, shmoo is asleep and all is quiet. About 5 minutes pass and I hear "mommy" to which I, of course, answer "yes, sweetie?". "You be quiet, mom, hush!". This only makes me giggle more while dad snickers.

Only 1 or 2 minutes later I hear "mommy, I soooo tired" to which I respond "then close your eyes [thinking - and your trap]", "ok".

When we got home, both kids were so deep asleep, neither one of them stirred as we carried them to bed, took off coats and shoes, and tucked them in.

Everyone was fresh and ready to go again Sunday morning, just a few minutes later than usual.