Even though he was fever-ridden, Squib was a busy little kidlet last weekend. Dare I hope he could be a writer? Who knows. He could be a fireman, a doctor, a farmer, or an accountant. Who cares. Nevertheless, I found this gem in my inbox last Sunday. I have edited out some of the random periods that iPod's autocorrect adds in (grr):
"One day there was a boy. He was happy. He love french fries and eggs. But when the sun was up the boys mommy gave him cookies hamburger strawberries watermelon bread. He tried it and he loved it."
Not bad for kindergarten, right? Yes, I am a proud mom. Yes, I am outright bragging over my youngest boy. Yes, I think he is awesome because, well, he is awesome. Cute. Funny. Intelligent. And he's a ham. Oh. My. Yes.
And what of the other boy?
Yes, yes, yes. He, too, is making leaps and bounds. He counts to ten now so we are working on counting to twenty. You wouldn't want to waste your efforts just frivolously counting, though, so you must play hopscotch or meter out goldfish crackers or divide up grapes evenly amongst everyone to justify the counting. Yes, yes. No frivol. He's reading! Mostly we know this via a computer reading program. Read the on-screen book. Answer questions. He can do it. "Yay-yay-yay!" As he would say.
However, about ten days ago I showed him a movie he had never seen and one of the production companies was called "Blue Sky." The logo came on the screen and clear as day he not only read it, but read it out loud. Reading and speech. Wowzer. Usually the extent of his language is "up, me, done, outside, music, cookie, etc." No more than a few words, really. Christmas of 2010 he was at his dad's but I talked to him on the phone and got, "Merry Christmas, I love you!" That was the first "I love you."
Saturday, however, could have been titled: Beanstalk is Mad. I forgot his Andrea Bocceli DVD. Come the official viewing time (9 a.m.) and no DVD I could hear the boiler being fired under the furnace to prepare for the mother of all meltdowns. It took an hour, but mid-morning on the playground he just plum flipped out. Head-banging, bonked his forehead with an arm brace, flailing, etc. And that was what he could get away with while I was holding him. He chilled out in my lap when I started singing, but threw in a perfunctory hiss now and then. That was new.
So I sat him in a chair of his own after a while. There was some sulking. And he thrust forth a lip upon which you could balance an orange. After a while, it dawned on me (I can be incredibly slow)...is he mad?
So I asked.
"Beanstalk, are you mad at momma?"
"Jeeesss." A wicked happy grin broke out over his face.
"Then say it." I smiled, too.
"I mad chew!" He opened his mouth wide and his eyes sparkled with glee as he scrunched up his shoulders like the joy was going to squeeze out of him. "Yay-yay-yay!!!!"
Most probably wouldn't throw a party when their child said they were mad at them, but in our house both the first paragraph and the first expression of anger are equally awesome achievements.
Growing like weeds!
Scat
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