Ok, so I said I was going to get you all caught up from March. I lied. Not entirely--I just haven't done it
yet. But I will. I promise. Just like I promised a magic show in first grade and then realized I lost most of my magic set so I faked a magic injury. Bad example. But I have every intention of bringing you up to speed with the great EGB.
It's hard these days. Anyone with a memory of, or living with a two-year old knows of the daily battles that ensue. "They" say "choose your battles", but what "they" forgot is that if
everything is a battle then there is no choice. "Choose your cocktail" is more fitting.
Me: Do you want milk Ellie?
EGB: Nooooooooo!
Me: Ok then, what do you want?
EGB: I want millllk!
Me: Huh?
This is the two-year-old vortex we live in. A world where yes means no and no means it-would-be-nice-to-be-on-vacation-on-a-warm-beach-on-another-planet-where-two-year-olds-serve-berries-and-cigars-and-act-like-polite-butlers.
However, in all of EGB's wild glory she has the great virtue of being linguistically awesome. That means she can speak--in sentences--in little kid tongue (always with a whine...you know the kind--"I neeed some morrre of thaaaaat". It's a whinery of sorts around here without all the grapes and expensive real estate.) This makes her demanding, but freakishly interesting for an almost two-year-old. Her teacher remarked the other day that EGB is her respite from a conversation-less world with the other miscreants. For this psychological benefit I asked for a discount on tuition. Still waiting to hear back from the director on that one.
So the language is poppin' out. The potty is in full effect with Dora underpants galore (another post forthcoming on this process. Potty training has been one of the more comical, yet challenging aspects of raising a monkey. Does poo-pee on the kitchen floor sound funny? It was as I was scrambling to get the perpetrator to a commode while yelling at the dog to not eat it. There's more where that came from.) EGB is still one happy little bundle of Velcro--combs hate her. Cheeks are still being studied by scientists. (Side note--she may be the answer to the BP leak. They're talking about sending her down to fill the cheeks with the entire ocean. That way the leak will be a little gas pump.) Running. Loves sandals. Books are her friends. Up to an inventory of about 6 songs. Still a milk-a-holic. Restaurants are a hit-or-miss venture (sorry guy at Mexican restaurant who was nearly impaled by the flying crayon).
I'll take you back to March shortly--where there were ski trips and mountain fun. Until then--Here's a bit of our recent journey to Ohio to see the legendary cousin, Isaac aka Ike the fruit monger. Keep your fruit clear from this kid unless you want it to suffer the same fate that any other fruit in his reach has suffered. It can get ugly.
Side note--traveling solo=by myself, with a two-year-old (almost) as a lap-child is a dangerous maneuver. Not dangerous in the might-get-stabbed sense, but in the what-are-you-thinking-flying-during-naptime-I hate-you-for-bringing-that-wild-animal-on-my-airplane sense. I forgot that most people like to relax on airplanes. EGB does not.
People were looking at me like:
"You must have some reinforcements somewhere? The mom who can actually handle this child must just be in the restroom, right?"
"What's wrong with your eyes? Why is there blood coming out of them?"
"Are you going to give her that cookie and take her to the bathroom? Or are you just going to let her scream COOKIE and PEE PEE the whole flight?"
"Do you want this chip that she just threw at me back?"
"I don't think your kid wants to play with crayons. That's why she threw them."
"I have 8 grandkids at home.
At home. Where they belong."
"Are you crazy? Oh you are? You need a hug?"
It was a great trip.
This frog is dumb. He doesn't even jump.
Me and Ike doing some grafiti on Nana and Poppa's sidewalk. I just drew my gang symbol. It's a cow udder with a bone through it. It scares the wussies away.
Who is that over there looking at us? I'm gonna draw on her.
It's the family. Some were ready for the picture and some were not. Nanna, Poppa, Aunt Rebecca and me--grubbing. I get hungry like that.
Me and Ike getting down at the playground. Our sunglasses make us look cool and bump into things.
Me and my cool cousin Ike hanging on the steps. My booty itches. I'm gonna scratch it.
EGB: Hold my hand, Ike. I'll take you to the cookie jar.
Ike: Eww. Not after you've been scratching your booty.
EGB: Alright then. I won't take you to get cookies.
Ike: No. Ok. I'll hold your stanky hand for some cookies.
Follow Uncle Dave for some cookies. Wait, we got suckered into doing yardwork!
Ok, no cookies, but we got Uncle Dave to read us a book. Again. Again. Again.
This is my little cousin, Ike. I'm gonna squeeze the fruit juice out of him.
Me and Ike doing some grafiti on Nana and Poppa's sidewalk. I just drew my gang symbol. It's a cow udder with a bone through it. It scares the wussies away.
Who is that over there looking at us? I'm gonna draw on her.
It's the family. Some were ready for the picture and some were not. Nanna, Poppa, Aunt Rebecca and me--grubbing. I get hungry like that.
Me and Ike getting down at the playground. Our sunglasses make us look cool and bump into things.
Me and my cool cousin Ike hanging on the steps. My booty itches. I'm gonna scratch it.
