The S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G entry
Shelbi and I have reached the point in parenthood where our conversations now resemble a 3rd grade spelling bee more than stimulating discussions of current events. We used to have to spell out a handful of words to prevent our dog from going ballistic. the words "treat", "walk", "outside" and "bye-bye" were catalysts for spastic barking and jumping to the point of Einstein giving himself full-on asthma attacks. But now, do to Einstein's old age and the adjustments he has made to life with a toddler, he is more difficult to rile up.
Say "treat" and he will lift his head curiously but now he'll simply rise slowly to his feet as if to say "Sure, I mean, I'll take one but, just to let you know, I've already had almost an entire banana, half a bowl of whole wheat pasta and I got into a dirty diaper that you guys haven't discovered yet so I'm pretty stuffed." And when we say "bye-bye" he has come to terms with the fact that, 97% of the time, we're talking only to Elliott and, in all likelihood, will be leaving him behind.
But, within the past month, some new buzzwords have developed that can generate a least 30 minutes of unpleasantness if they are uttered without the means or the desire to back them up. The most dangerous of these is "Muppets." Elliott can be in a full sprint in the opposite direction, en route to a toy or, more likely, to the try and splash in the toilet, and even muttering Muppets under your breath will cause him to turn his head violently in a way that would give an older person's neck a nearly fatal case of whiplash. Often he won't be able to stop his momentum quickly enough, causing him to fall over before frantically crawling back to his feet and running to the TV while saying "Mupp-ah?" over and over with increasing intensity."
And, if that word simply came up in conversation and we had no intention of actually putting on the Muppets (which is more often the case than not) God help us all. The boy will fall to his knees, sobbing and clawing at the television as if pleading to his own deity. A similar scenario occurs if we say the word "bath" and are unable to follow through with all that that word normally entails. You've got your wailing, your desperate pulling at the bathroom doorknob, your unintelligible shouting at us in anger that, most likely can be translated as: "Why? Why would you say that? You said bath and it's all I can thing about now! I'll never be happy again unless I can get in the bath!"
Shelbi and I are constantly underestimating how much Elliott understands and, when in doubt, it is now probably safest for us to simply spell out anything that he would have even the slightest chance of comprehending. Yesterday evening we were at our friends' house and were attempting to show off the handful of words Elliott has in his repertoire. (By "words" I mean, the five or six things he says that sound slightly different than his usual shrieks and babbles.) One of his newest words is "cheese" (also perhaps his favorite food). While he was plowing through blueberries I innocently started trying to get him to say the word. He complied (a miracle in its own right as he has a tendency to give both Shelbi and I a withering stare when asked to perform, chiding us silently for treating him like a circus monkey).
This time he got the word out, which is simply the "ch" sound. But, after a few seconds, he squirmed off of his chair despite our protests and toddled into the kitchen. He then proceeded to run his hand along our friends' countertops saying "ch-, ch-, ch-!" because, in his mind, he had just been promised a delicious snack that was far more interesting than blueberries. So put that one on the spelling list as well for now.
Postscript: A special thanks to Mike and Toni for allowing us to absentmindedly treat their home like our son's nursery. Last night it suddenly occurred to me that we did everything from raiding their DVD collection in search of a rumored Muppets DVD to pilfer their fridge, without asking, for a piece of cheese. And that's on top of the normal eating-related messes that an 18-month-old boy has a tendency to create. With each passing day Shelbi and I become more and more like the parents we swore we'd never be. Perhaps that actually means we're finally discovering what it's like to be normal parents.
I'm posting this picture so that, when displayed side-by-side, Elliott will clearly prefer my blog to Shelbi's.
Oooh...that is a LOW BLOW with the picture!!!!
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Love this! He is brillant and will love reading these when he is older. Sent from Zambia, with love
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Elliott (and his parents) are welcome any time. I'm just glad that the old house didn't prove too dangerous for him.
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My son is 18 months, and my husband and I are getting to that point too where we have to spell words, such as "popsicle" and "outside" because we don't want him to hear us! Kids are great!
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