Grocery store trips have become a bit more difficult lately since Mitchell has definite opinions on what we should buy and what we shouldn’t. I finally understand the marketing trick of putting the kids stuff on the lower half of the shelves. Screw you, marketing geniuses.
I used to be able to keep Mitchell in line with the promise of a bag of M&Ms at the end of the trip if he was good. But since he figured out he can get M&Ms just by pushing a few dribbles into his potty, that’s lost its potency. He even hides leftover M&Ms around the house for when he doesn’t actually have to potty. That way, when I say, “Sorry, no M&Ms because you didn’t go potty” he can run off, grab a few M&Ms, and grin at me while eating them. It’s times like those that I think it’s probably better that he doesn’t talk more, although he doesn’t need words to get his meaning across.
But they’ve started a construction project on Meijers now. As we pulled in the lot, I heard screams of “BACKHOE! YELLOW BACKHOE!” from the backseat. So on the way into the store, we stopped and watched the backhoe putting dirt into the back of a “dump car” (not dump truck, dump car). I promised him that if he was nice in the grocery store, we would stop and watch the backhoe again on our way out.
Holy cow, it worked. I felt like Mother of the Year for the whole shopping trip. Mitchell walked along beside me nicely, holding the cart, helping me but not taking it upon himself to run two aisles out of the way for the ultra giant keep-you-alive-for-two-years-in-the-event-of-a-nuclear-disaster size Easy Mac. Mitchell was wearing one of the giveaway yellow construction hats and Rosie dressed adorably and smiling from the ring sling, so I felt like a celebrity walking those aisles. It was just us and a store full of old people ooohing and aaahing over my adorable children.
When we got home, Mitchell busied himself reenacting the backhoe and dump truck action, and Rosie busied herself destroying that adorable outfit.
Before she destroyed her outfit, she reached out and rattled the ball on her toy bar. I’ll check that off the 4 month development chart check list!
Then Laika ate Mitchell’s good behavior M&Ms and destroyed his awesome mood (and his good behavior). So now we’re an hour and a half into nap time and he’s so far away from sleeping that I’m beginning to wonder if it’s going to happen at all. You remember those posters from the 90s with scenes like one cat among a hundred puppies and said something like “if this is the first day of the rest of my life, I’m screwed”? Yeah. That’s what an afternoon and evening with a toddler with no nap looks like.
So, to distract myself from that prospect, I’ll do a quick rant/brag about Mitchell and his words. It’s now been exactly one week since his speech test. In that one week, he’s developed more words than in the previous 120 weeks combined. Most importantly, he’s TRYING to repeat words. Today he heard me say we were going to pick up Daddy’s suit and he repeated me. That’s generally not how he does things. I’d he develops a new word, usually he just randomly starts using it. You never know where he picked it up. And so when he just randomly walks through the house going “damn, damn, damn,” I can tell myself he picked the word up from those damn construction workers. What am I going to do if he starts parroting?
Here’s the issue: I have a love affair with curse words. I believe there’s some magical quality about curse words. The correctly timed curse word can somehow give you that extra burst of strength to get that nail in the wall. I’m mildly proud of my ability to just string random words together and create whole new curse words. What am I going to do when I can’t do that anymore? I don’t exactly have a giant skill set, I can’t just start chipping away skills. But I also don’t share some people’s opinion that cursing children are cute. So, I guess, away with the curse words. Things are about to get a lot less interesting around here.
Oh, but at least I’m not facing an afternoon with a tired toddler!
(That’s right, totally let him sleep in our bed. At least he’s on Daddy’s side. I sure don’t want that cold he’s been spreading around!)