Tag Archives: daughter

S-isms Solved

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You guys are getting better at decoding S! Many of you got the song (#3) and a few also got #’s 1, 5 and 6. I figured out what #2 is!! She said it again yesterday. None of you were close.

  1. Gop!
    • Stop! This she says with conviction while holding her hand up in front of her like a traffic cop or a Supreme.
  2. Gatka da yee-ess gor off?
    • This is the one that was a mystery to even me. When she originally said it I knew what she meant and wrote it down without translation. When I went back to post it, the meaning was lost to me. Until she said it again yesterday. A discarded toy did that thing that toys do – it made a noise after 3 minutes or so to see if it could lure a child back to its noisy side. The toy in question was L’s Leapster, which both my kids call a DS. S was asking if that sound was the DS turning off. “That sound the DS turn off?”
  3. We bik dee gitty oh walkie woal. 
    • We built this city on rock and roll!
  4. Ging eekie eekie gong. 
    • Sing Twinkle Twinkle song. We sing this together every night. S’s version is: Eekie, eekie, eekie tar. How wa wa wa wa wa are. Uppa Uppa kie so high. Like a eekie in da kie. Eekie, eekie, eekie tar. How wa wa wa wa wa are. 
  5. Me go how put gope on.
    • Me know how to put soap on.
  6. It’s too gunny ow guys.
    • It’s too sunny outside.

S-isms

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Do you know WTF my 2-year-old is saying?

  1. Gop!
  2. Gatka da yee-ess gor off?*
  3. We bik dee gitty oh walkie woal. (Hint: this one is sung, not said.)
  4. Ging eekie eekie gong. (No, I’m not kidding.)
  5. Me go how put gope on.
  6. It’s too gunny ow guys.

*I’ve been writing these down as they happen. This one I didn’t translate at the time and now I can’t for the life of me figure out what it means.

 

S-isms Solved

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OK, so here’s the answer key. There were a lot of creative answers and a couple of you got some right. Everyone was stumped by the first and last ones though.

Me eek keys in the boo-koo-montney?

“Me eat cheese in the supermarket?” Can’t go to the market without stopping by the deli for a slice of cheese. Luckily, even if I’m not buying cheese the folks at the deli counter are always willing to give S a slice. Try to get the girl to eat a slice of cheese at home? She’ll have none of it.

Me want more bup in my cup!

“Me want more milk in my cup!” Bup has always been her word for milk. I tried to teach her to say it correctly by having her copy me saying “mmmmm” and then “mmmmm-milk.” But she says “mmmmmm-bup.” Oh well.

Me all done beeking!

“Me all done sleeping!” Naturally, beeking = sleeping. She shouts this over and over again when she wakes up.

(singing) Cakey car ish kittniss!

This one is S singing along to the radio, and I had the pleasure of hearing it for the entire length of a song, and most of the rest of the day. “Taking care of business!” You would have known it if you heard it because girl’s got rhythm.

This was fun. I might add S-isms as a regular feature along with my WTF Tapas. What do you think?

S-isms

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Some kids are great verbalists. Not mine. L couldn’t pronounce his own (totally uncomplicated) name until he was well over 3, and he still erroneously begins words with the letter B (“becited”), and mispronounces several words like “hostible” and “resternaut.” I love these mispronunciations and am probably doing the exact wrong thing by not correcting them.

At 2, S is a chatterbox. She almost never stops talking and almost none of what she says is remotely understandable. I get about 70% of what she says. Luckily, L understands more like 85% and often acts as translator. When neither of us is around, she’s probably constantly frustrated and misunderstood. With good reason. Here are a few gems that she said just yesterday:

Me eek keys in the boo-koo-montney?

Me want more bup in my cup!

Me all done beeking!

(singing) Cakey car ish kittniss!

Any idea what she’s talking about? I actually was able to understand all of them. There was plenty she said that I couldn’t understand but I thought it might be fun to put these out there and hear your guesses. I’ll translate tomorrow.

I Can’t Take Me Anywhere

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Sometimes I forget where I am. And I’ve been told I have a loud voice. (I wonder where my kids get their loud voices from?) Yesterday I had one of these moments. I looked up from an interaction with S, which ended with me saying, “How do YOU like it?” while tugging on a bit of her hair, to find 6 moms watching me. Whoops.

So this begs the question: do you parent differently in public? (OK, so it also begs questions about me pulling my 2-year-old’s hair.) Can your kids get away with more or less when you’re at someone else’s house? In a store? At school drop off? Waiting outside big brother’s acrobat class?

The scene: L’s acrobat class is from 4:30-5:30 on Thursdays. S and I wait in the lobby of the dance school with the other parents and siblings. Everyone seems perfectly happy except S who is abjectly miserable for the entire hour. She begs to go home, to be fed dinner. She runs, climbs, cries, hits, pushes, throws things, cries more and drags me to the tiny toddler toilet 110 times. On this particular Thursday S was even more unhappy than usual and nothing distracted her from her reign of terror. She poked a girl in the eye, pulled a boy’s hair, yanked toys away from happy children and threw them at unsuspecting adults.

She asked to be picked up. I picked her up. She squirmed to go down. I put her down. She cried. She asked to be picked up. I picked her up. She squirmed to go down. I put her down. She cried. It was in the middle of one of these tiresome hell-cycles that she grabbed handfuls of my hair.

My discipline during this hour was a mixture of stern admonishment, sympathetic affection, distraction and ignoring. Basically just what I do at home, but without the help of my pantry and TV. So I acted as I would anywhere when I pulled her hair and noticed my audience. No one said anything. They looked at me. I looked at them. And then they looked away. Are they thinking I’m a child abuser? Or a normal mom doing normal mom things? Are they wondering what I do behind closed doors if I think it’s perfectly fine to pull my daughter’s hair in public?*

*Just so you all know, whether or not it’s perfectly fine to pull my daughter’s hair, it’s the same thing I would do behind closed doors. 

Should I be ashamed to show my face again?

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A Post About S and Grandpa

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S has memorized the How To Be An Annoying Younger Sibling Handbook. Hell, she may have revised the thing, adding new chapters such as “Sitting on Big Brother’s Head – Appropriate Situations to Employ This Most Dangerous Tactic,” and “When Hurting Yourself is Worth it in the Spririt of Getting Big Brother in Trouble,” and “Let’s Make Sure Mom Drinks Tonight.” My sweet little girl pulls hair, claws eyeballs and puts her own fingers into L’s mouth for him to bite. In her defense, she only does this stuff when she’s bored. And she will handle a whole minute of boredom before resorting to these measures.

She’s most bored when L watches TV. This is problematic for me because I plug L into the TV when I have something to do. Like cook dinner, make a phone call, or not kill him. So while I’m super busy cooking, talking on the phone, or not killing, S is in the other room stirring things up. She’s instigating a monster, and she knows it. She will sit on his head, (keep in mind, she’s usually not wearing anything on her bottom half,) pull his hair and claw at his eyes until he retaliates. In his defense, he has a HUGE tolerance for this type of crap. I have seen him watch an entire Wild Kratts with his sister on his head. When he does retaliate though, he does so with gusto. A swift twist, push and throwing maneuver and S is thrown from the couch altogether. He may leave it at that, or he may leap down after her and then the two are a blur of legs and arms as they wrestle it out on the floor.

L weighs 45 lbs. S weighs 23. Fighting is in L’s DNA. S doesn’t stand a chance.

This morning, L is plugged into a movie while I try to pack up all of our stuff as we can finally head home after a week of living with my parents. We have our electricity back and I can’t wait to get back to our normal lives. S does not want to watch a movie. So, naturally, she grabs a handful of eyeball. Like a pitbull, once she’s latched on, nothing can get her off. L is screaming and I’m yanking on S but she’s glued onto that eyeball. I finally free L from her clutches and put S into a time out. She does not stay in time outs so I am re-putting her in the corner again and again and then something strange happened.

A man came in and scooped her up. He gave her a hug and asked her if she will promise to be good. Through pathetic fake tears, she promises. He then releases her back into her freedom. WTF? Who is this man? He looks like my dad, but can’t be.

When I was growing up, my dad was the scary one. When we were naughty we quickly asked our mother, “Please don’t tell dad??” I think he still doesn’t know about the brand new ski jacket I lost in the 5th grade. (Sorry, Dad.) So who’s this softy letting my daughter out of her time out? I could have used this guy 30 years ago.

I guess the moral here is that we all have to wait about 30 years. Then when our terrible children have terrible children of their own, we can do whatever the eff we want. We can be the nice guy if we used to be the mean guy. We can give them Sugar Puff Honey Crack O’s for breakfast and then give them back to their parents. We can babysit and keep them up way past bedtime. All this is to say, that one day, we will have our revenge. Good things come to those who wait.

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My Wish Came True. Damn.

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There was a time not so long ago when all I wanted was for S to talk. I worried, fretted and blogged about it. As everyone promised, she eventually did start talking. Now I have a different, somewhat predictable problem: I can’t get her to stop! She chatters constant nonsense from the second she opens her eyes until she finally falls asleep.

She is loud and has nothing interesting to say.

The unceasing high-pitched noise has me overstimulated at all times. I can’t think straight. I swear we could replace water-boarding with 24-hour recordings of her and prisoners would confess everything.

She does say cute things. My favorite is that she calls animals by the sounds they make. When she sees a monkey she calls it “ah-ah-hoo-hoo.” Obviously, I show her monkeys all the time. She thinks the happy birthday song is actually “happy cake,” but she can’t pronounce cake very well. She proudly belted out her version at my father’s birthday recently:

Happy cock is Papa! Happy cock is Papa! Happy co-ock is Papa, Happy cock is Papa!

What drives me crazy is the noise she fills all quiet space with. The talking for no reason, with nothing to say. We can drive for 20 minutes with her repeating, “Go home, Mommy? Me in? Go home, Mommy? Me in? Go home, Mommy? Me in?” The fact that I answer her has no impact on her continuing to question if we are in fact going home, and if I’m going to let her inside rather than leave her out in the car. (WTF?) Worse is when we’re not going home, then we have this conversation:

S: Go home, Mommy?

me: No, S. We’re going to the market, then we’re going to pick up L, then home.

S: Go home, Mommy?

me: No. First the market, then L, then home.

S: Pick up Unna? [Her name for L]

me: Yes. First the market, then L, then home.

S: Go home Mommy?

me: $#%&*@!

This can go on forever. Nothing makes it stop, except one thing that is even more loathsome than this conversation – playing a certain children’s CD, but only repeating an irritatingly chipper version of “If You’re Happy and You Know it.” I try not to do that until I’m considering driving into a lake.

So, be careful what you wish for. I wanted her to talk and I got it. Apparently she’s making up for lost time. God willing, her neck will grow soon and her vocal chords with it and the pitch of her voice will come down a bit. I’m not even going to bother hoping for the volume to come down. She and her brother have 2 volumes: shouting and screaming.

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A Letter to S For Her 2nd Birthday

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Dear S,

It’s hard for me to write a letter to you because most of my thoughts and feelings about you aren’t really expressible as words, only as sickeningly saccharine pet names, squeezes and snuggles. I can’t figure out how to describe the sentiment behind nuzzling your belly, play-eating your haunches, and tickling your toes. How do I express your giggles as I toss you into the air, flip you upside down and spin you around? Or what it’s like just walking with your tiny hand in mine? It’s impossible. You are not a thing of words; you are a thing of visceral, devastating, hopeless love and attachment. It’s all I can do on a daily basis not to eat you. (I know that sounds weird. When you have a baby of your own, you’ll get it.)

S sitting in a chair 2 days old. I had so much fun in the hospital with her. Best 4 days of my life.

You’ve become such a big girl in so many ways and I’ve been lucky enough to witness you grow. You are easily the most affectionate person I’ve ever known in my life. And for the most part, you are unflappably happy. Unless you’re not. And when you’re not you let us know. For a person so small in stature, your volume is alarming.

Mmmmm, puzzle....

Your vocabulary grows by the day, but it’s still quite limited. You have some of the important words, and several words I wouldn’t have pegged as obvious first words:

Your best words are the 2-year-old trifecta: no, mine and me.

You can’t say L’s name, so you just call him “Unna,” which is the same word you use for “other.” As in, he’s the other one. (Trust me, you’re not saying brother. You can say that too, but it sounds more like “budda.”)

Many of your words are only meaningful to me, like “boo” for “shoe” and “boop” for “milk,” but some other words are said with perfect clarity. These are a surprising bunch like “money,” “elbow,” “hot cocoa,” and “goggles.”

Except when you use that tone of voice which is the exact perfect pitch to reverberate in my head and drive me clinically insane, you are seriously the most adorable thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. (Except L when he was your age, who was also impossibly cute, but harder to see because he was always a blur of motion.) It takes all of my restraint to stop myself from constantly picking you up, squeezing you, and smothering you in kisses, tickles and nuzzles.

I love that you are happy to play by yourself. I love that you are happy to play with me. I love that you are laid back about transitions from one activity to another. I love that you smile and say hello to everyone you see. I love the way you giggle. I love the way you run. I love the way you jump.

I do not love that you still hate the car and spend most of your time in it screaming.

I love that you go to bed so easily. I love that you wake up happy. I love that you eat just about anything I put in front of you. I love how much you love your big brother. You find him hilarious and you try to copy everything he does. Most of the time, I wish you wouldn’t.

Fashionista

S, my sweet 2-year-old, I’ve said a thousand times over the last two years that I want to stop time to freeze you where you are because you are at the height of your cuteness and sweetness. But you just keep getting better. (I am aware that the age of 3 looms ahead of me, but I prefer to live in denial.)

I love love love love love you impossibly much.

Love,

Mommy

Epic Brilliance, or Possible Idiot

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I may be a genius. Or maybe I’m just emerging from the rock I’ve been under. Either I just figured out a great little trick, or I’ve been unaware that every other parent out there already knows this, and how could I not?

Some background:

L is happy to have a bucket of water dumped on his head pretty much anytime, anywhere. The upside to this penchant is that he’s been happy in the bath since he was a baby. (Although he was decidedly unhappy in his first bath, if memory serves.) Washing his face and hair was never a problem. Then came S, who is quite delighted to be in the water. Is happy as anything playing with the toys and bubbles and washcloths. But woe be to the person who tries to touch her! And may the person who pours water over her head be forever damned!

I’m the meaner parent, so pouring water over S’s head is my job. My wanting-to-complete-the-task impulse is stronger than my feel-bad-for-miserable-toddler impulse. (This is not a surprise.) Luckily, S has had barely any hair until pretty recently. Not sure if you remember or not, but not long ago I made the comparison between S’s hair and that of a certain celebrity:

I'm not kidding. S was a dead-ringer for the Captain.

Good thing for S, her hair has since grown out a bit, into a toddler-chic shag do. Suddenly she needs conditioner. This involves so many more cups of water poured over S’s head. So much more misery. My Efficient v. Empathetic scale started to move.

Here comes the stroke of genius (or my personal discovery that the sky is blue):

I use leave in conditioner in my hair, why not use it in S’s?

This has changed my life. Well, my evenings. Well, the evenings in which I bathe my children. If you don’t do it already, try it!

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More on Potty Training

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Let’s see, what have I been up to today? Well, trying to beat the heat, S and I have spent many happy hours in the bathroom drinking apple juice.

I have sung many verses of:

(To the tune of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”)

Tinkle, tinkle on the potty,

how I wonder when you’ll pee?

You sit on the pot and you sit and you sit,

but nothing ever goes into it.

Tinkle, tinkle on the potty,

how I wonder when you’ll pee…

 

I’ve also sung many rockin’ refrains to the tune of “Let the Sun Shine in”

Let the pee come out,

Let the pee come out.

The pee-ee

come out!

 

All to no avail. The child is happy to sit on the potty, but as soon as she get the urge to go she either stands up and goes into the other room to pee on the hardwood floor, or she cries for her diaper. This sucks.