Disclaimer: Yes, I know the boys aren’t *technically* in preschool. They’re in the toddler class at daycare. Prior to having kids I was just as judgey about parents using “school” for where the tiny tots spend their days. But they are *at* a school. And that’s just easier to say. Plus, preschool worked better for the title of this post.
Also, this post contains language inappropriate for family-oriented audiences. It’s all in pursuit of accurate reporting on the muppets’ development. They said it. Not me.
Yes, that chubby toddler high stepping it across the living room in the buff this evening would be my son. IT’S NAKED TIME!
He was shortly returned in the arms of his grandmother, naked little legs flailing in little cycles as he protested any type of clothing. With a smart combat tuck and roll, the child scampered back down the hallway. Meanwhile, his brother sat cocooned in his towel following the parade of indecency with curious interest.
Last time Destroy enjoyed the cool breeze following tub time, his godmother got peed on. Again.
“Cock,” announced Destroy.
PapaStavo burst into peals of high-pitched laughter. “What did he just say?!”
“Sss,” replied GrammaJ dryly. “He’s going to need to learn how to articulate those “S” super sounds.”
“Yes! That’s a sock sweetie!” I said gently, taking the flailing footwear out of his hands – praising him for his obvious brilliance, while trying to distract him from the traumatic application of the evening diaper.
“Coke?” the now diapered little dude asked resignedly.
“Yeah!” Search agreed excitedly. “Caca? Caca?”
PapaStavo seemed very confused. GrammaJ was trying not to laugh.
I may not be the world’s best mother. But I’m going to go ahead and interject the point that I am not supplying my growing children with sugary soda. Coke = cup. (Which is generally filled with healthy hydrating filtered water. Or sometimes milk.) I don’t know where coke came from. We’re clearly a Pepsi household. Must be a regional thing…
Thankfully, despite prior Code Brown episodes in the bathtub, tonight’s proclamation actually translates to “cracker.”
When I was the muppets’ age, I had a thing for cement trucks. I wanted to be one when I grew up. (This is a sign of intelligence – ability to use one’s imagination you know.) Destroy saw a garbage truck the other day; Jon thought he was about to have an excitement-induced aneurysm. Today both boys were giddy to observe two moving trucks up close and personal.
You’re thinking that last paragraph was a random tangent, aren’t you? It’s not. You ever hear a toddler clearly say a combined sound? “Tr” I didn’t think so. If you’re lucky, they just eliminate the intro to that word. But sometimes “Tr” becomes “F.”
Go ahead. Put that together. I’ll wait.
I’m gonna be *that* mom in the neighborhood. OMG – I’m gonna be profiled on People I Want to Punch in the Throat as one of those moms who’s children are running rampant screaming obscenities.
I know! Toddlers are easily distracted! Quick! Find a shiny object!
Search, Destroy – look, a rubber ducky. What sound does a duck make?
“Haha, cutie pies,” I nervously corrected. “Quack. Quack. Can you say quack, quack.”