Mama, you tell me "no" most every day
About how I'm not supposed to play
With cat food, cat litter, or cat tails
With glasses, glass bottles, or glasses of ale

You tell me "no" when I try to run
Out into the street with the cars, so fun
You tell me no when I try to dance
With water in puddles when wearing clean pants

You tell me "no" when I reach for sharp things
Or try to tangle myself in strings
I just want to explore everything I can
So I can grow up to be a big man

So why is it, when I say "no", you sigh
And make me try food that I don't want to try
And insist that I wear clothes I don't want to wear
I'm telling you, Mama, it just isn't fair

Why is it when I say "no" you say "yes"
And insist that I walk with you under duress
Dragging me with you when I want to stay
And explore all the things we find along our way

Why is it when I say "no", you complain
That it's time to stop dancing out in the rain
Or that it's time to go change a diaper of pee
I'm fine being dirty, you're just not letting me

I don't understand this double standard
Why you can say "no" even when I get angered
But when I say "no" you deny me my wants
And insist that I wear both my shirt AND my pants

I don't understand that me just being me
Is considered being "persnickety"
And when I'm just trying to play and amuse
You mumble something about "terrible twos"

I don't understand, Mama, why you get to say
Just how I should be and how I should play
I just want to tell you, to make sure you know
That when I say "no", that's how it should go!

Crumbly goodness

Mama seems to think I spread food all over the place just because I'm messy. But what she doesn't understand is how improved the taste of food can be just by spending a mere hour or two on the floor. That special sweetness that a Craisin obtains from resting on the carpet for a few hours, the savory sumptousness of a Goldfish cracker that has been aging for 3 days hidden under the coffee table. My Mama and Dada are all about letting their wine aerate or eating aged cheese -- don't they understand that is all I am doing? But of course, as usual, they just don't understand, they complain and use the vaccuum to suck my culinary delights away into oblivion. They don't understand that when I throw the food off of my tray, it's not ONLY because they are spending too much time talking amongst themselves instead of witnessing the brilliant wonder that is me, but it's also so that I can experience what a hot dog, or a spoonful of sweet potato, tastes like after being left to mature for a certain amount of time. Of course, Mama always has to clean the floor right away, so I never do get to explore the piquant pleasures of an aged macaroni noodle. Something about it being "unsanitary". You know, I could be the next Food Network star like Andrew Zimmern. "Bizzare Toddler Foods with Destructor". I could be -- ooh, stale pretzel. Nom nom nom.

Slave to the rhythm

I am a prodigy of percussion. I am a master of meter, the titan of tempo, "le roi du rythme". I am the captain of cadence, the boy with the beats. And I know, I really do know, that the best way to express my art is to hit everything upon everything else all the time. The ring of my wooden screwdriver upon the air conditioner, the pleasant knocking of toy trains on the table, the timbre of a cast iron pot banged on the floor, these are sounds the world needs to hear, and understand, and appreciate.


And yet, Mama and Dada and AuntK just don't understand. They fail to appreciate the perfection that is pounding a wooden spoon on the table leg, or a sippy cup upon the chair. They don't seem to understand the joy of experimentation that comes from testing what noise a toy car makes when it is hit against the stove, or the soothing sonorousness of pretty much anything hit against the floor. Yes, I know we have downstairs neighbors. Yes, I know it's 7 am. They love me for my art. I'm sure of it.


You see, Mama, Dada, AuntK, these "noises" as you call them are not just bangs, not just crashes, not just booms or clangs or clanks -- they are a part of the music of the ages, the primal beat that rumbles so softly in my psyche and must be released for the world to enjoy.  These are the sounds of my soul. And every time you tell me "STOP BANGING!" in that tone that only just hints of exasperation, know that you are not only stifling my creative instincts, but that you are robbing the world of the craft of my composition, a symphony of such sublimity that even if I had the words, I could just not express it. Sigh. I am a virtuoso of vibrations, unappreciated in his time. 

DON'T keep me from my MUFFIN!

So, I know I haven't written in a while. Life has just been so BUSY. It's hard work learning all this stuff and going all these places. A few weeks ago, we went all the way to a magical, wonderful place called CLEVELAND where my Grandpa and Grandma and cousin Mya and Aunt Juju and Aunt Mimi live, and it was AWESOME. And we've been to the farm and to the pool and to the park and on car rides and the library and the fire station and the construction site and so many awesome places I just can't explain. My life is just so busy.


But today, I need to talk about a VERY important issue. Muffins. Muffins are the best food in the whole wide world except for maybe cheese (especially gouda) and blueberries and chocolate. Muffins are my all time favorite breakfast food except for maybe pancakes and waffles when we have them. And when AuntK makes me muffins, you BETTER not get in my way when I want them. I don't CARE if I just had a really stinky diaper and you want to wash your hands. I don't CARE that I don't have my shirt on yet, or that you want to get my milk ready first. I don't CARE that you're sleepy because I woke up way earlier than usual. I want my muffin and I want it NOW.


And I don't want just ONE muffin. No. I need one in EACH HAND. I don't CARE that the one you just handed me is a big one instead of a mini one. I want TWO. And don't you dare try to take away the bigger one to swap it for two small mini ones. Because you already GAVE me that muffin and I want it, even though I won't eat a whole big one and a mini one. I just don't understand why this is such an issue, Mama. I just don't understand.


And of course once I get my muffins, don't you DARE try to tell me where I need to sit to eat them. If I want to sit right in the middle of the living room floor and get crumbs all over the carpet instead of sitting in my chair, that's my prerogative. I am Destructor. Hear me ROAR!


And later, after I've eaten my muffins, of course I want snuggles and hugs because really, I understand, Mama, that you don't always comprehend the magnitude of my needs. And I'm sorry for your ignorance. Someday, Mama, someday you'll grow up enough to understand that muffins are the most important thing in the world on very specific mornings. And other days it's waffles. And other days I could care less about breakfast, but don't you DARE keep me from playing with my trains. Or my cars. Or my pillow fort. I don't think I'm that unclear about these things. Sigh. Someday, Mama, you'll understand.

Duct Tape Roll, my new best friend

Got my milk, got my duct tape. What more does a boy need?

Last night, Dada was working at the window, doing something that he thinks is going to keep me from dropping my toys between the window gate and the screen (he is so naive), and he was using this neat looking stuff that came on a roll, and I was like -- what is this thing? What is this roll of awesomeness that he is holding? And then they told me it's name. DUCT TAPE. (or as I like to say "duck bape") It is my new most favoritest most bestest friend in the whole wide world.

This is my happy duct tape dance.

This roll of duct tape is just incredible. You see, you can wear it like a bracelet or an anklet or a hat. You can use it to add extra grip to your sippy cup. You can roll it off the table or roll it along the floor. And Mama and Dada seem to think that the tape ITSELF does something. But I don't care about that. I don't know what duct tape does, all I know is that this roll is imbued with some sort of AWESOMENESS that I just can't get enough of. It is the best toy EVER.

The many and varied uses of the duct tape roll. See how cool it is?

I love my duct tape roll so much, I wanted to cuddle it to sleep last night, but Mama distracted me by singing "Wheels on the Tractor" and took it away. But I saw it this morning and I just had to hold it! It was all I could do to put it down long enough to eat my breakfast. As soon as I was done, it was mine to love again! And for some reason Mama and Dada and AuntK all think my obsession is amusing. Like it has some greater meaning. They keep using the word "engineer". I don't know what an "engineer" is, but if it's someone who gets to hold and dance and play and wear and sleep with rolls of duct tape, I am so all about that!

The duct tape roll and I share a quiet moment.

Construction SITE!!!

You are not going to believe where I went this morning... a real, live, honest to goodness CONSTRUCTION SITE! It is so close to my house -- just a few blocks -- and it is the COOLEST THING EVER! I mean, there are bulldozers, and excavators, and dump trucks, and rollers, and dirt -- great big hills of dirt, and I have gone there EVERY DAY THIS WEEK! You know why? Because my Mama and Dada and AuntK are the coolest people in the whole wide world and they love me and take me there whenever I want! Well, almost whenever, but good enough.

The first day my Mama walked by there after work and all the trucks were sleeping, and I thought, well, that's kind of neat, Mama. The big trucks and motorcycles and stuff that were driving down the road next to the site were, frankly, much cooler. But then the next day, my AuntK took me and you know what? The trucks were MOVING! They were digging and lifting and moving big piles of dirt all over the place! So when my Mama got home I tried to tell her what happened -- I said "excavator, bulldozer, dirt!" and led her to the gate so I could show her. We went for a walk, but you know what, the trucks were SLEEPING again! Lazy trucks! It wasn't even dark yet, and I wasn't tired, but they were all sleeping, just like in my book Good Night, Good Night, Construction Site (which is one of my absolute favorite books ever), but it was so EARLY! And I wanted to show my Mama how the trucks moved so much! It was the same the next day too -- they were moving and working when my AuntK took me, but not when my Mama did. How could my Mama ever know what the trucks were doing?

So, finally, today, my Mama and Dada took me first thing in the morning, and they got to see all the trucks too! And there was this one excavator that was working right up near the edge of the site and we got to get SO CLOSE! We got to see him digging and moving dirt and putting it in a dump truck! It was so loud, and super cool! And then we just watched for a while, and saw all these different trucks move the dirt all over the construction site. Mama told me they are going to put buildings there! I just can't wait to see it! I love construction sites!

All this excitement totally wore me out!

My cats rock!

Me and my cats, we are like the bestest of friends ever. See, I have two cat friends, Kahlua and Guinness. (Yeah, Mama and Dada really love their special grown up drinks or something). Guinness is big and black and Kahlua is small and brown and they have such nice soft fur I just LOVE to give them great big hugs! Sometimes they even hold still and we have great big long hugging sessions until they go meow and run away. But I know when they say meow what they really mean is "chase me!" So I do. The best place to chase them is through my tunnel. We can go through the tunnel over and over and over. My cats love me SO much. We have this awesome history. They helped me learn how to walk and how to crawl and they just love every bit more that I can move and play with them!

Me and Kahula, last year. See how upset she is that I can't reach her yet?

Me and Guinness a few months ago. He really loves to let me pet him, can't you tell?

The latest thing I do that my cats absolutely love is trying to offer them my toys and food. I mean, they don't really seem to enjoy the cookies I try to give them, but I know it's just because they haven't tasted them yet. I'll just keep trying. And now I know they really love that I can reach up to where they like to sit like on the dining room table or the bed and try to share my toys. Check out this video of how much Kahlua loves it when I offer her my stacking cup, so much so that she has to go contemplate how much she loves me from her perch on the mantle in the dining room. (I love watching her jump up there -- I know she does it just to show off for me!)

It is really awesome having my cats around! I know they just can't wait until I'm big enough to pick them up and carry them around!

Me and my Rody

This past weekend, Mama and Dada brought me the coolest new friend ever. They say they found him all alone on the edge of the street by someone's trash, and they brought him home and cleaned him up and now he lives with us. He is my new doggie. Mama and Dada tried to tell me he was a horse, and made neighing sounds and all that stuff, but I know better. I bark at him, and he answers back even though they can't hear. After all, he knows he's a doggie, even if Mama and Dada don't get it.

My doggie and I, we share a special relationship.

The first thing they did when the brought the doggie into the living room was make it fat with this neat pump, and I of course had to help. For some reason, this doggie breathes through a hole in it's butt, and after it gets the air, it gets fat. Isn't that weird? I watched Mama using the pump and I figured it out and tried to give it air too. I was working very hard, but it didn't get any fatter when I did it. I think Mama put something in the hole to keep me from making it too fat or something. But I had fun using the pump!

Mama used a pump to put air in the doggie's butt! For some reason, Mama and Dada seemed to find this all very funny... 

After it got fat, I picked it up and loved it and carried it around the room and showed Mama and Dada just how much I loved it. And you know what they did? They tried to make me sit on it! SIT on it! Of course, at first, I was like -- how could you sit on the doggie? Won't you hurt it? I didn't get it. They don't let me sit on OTHER doggies. Like at Christmastime when I tried to sit on Grandpas dog. They said that was bad or something. But now they want me to sit on another doggie! I swear, I don't understand my parents sometimes...

Black doggie - bad to sit on. Pink doggie -- good to sit on. I don't get it.

But finally, I gave it a try. And you know what you can do on this doggie? You can BOUNCE! I LOVE to bounce. Bouncing is awesome! And so now I love this doggie even more! He lets me bounce on him and love him and carry him around and never complains like the cats do or run away like other doggies do and he is just awesome. He is the best doggie ever! 

Now, I need to work on my dismount...

Revolution and Booms

I was not feeling so good this weekend, but my Mama and Dada decided to take me to this park where there were lots of people in red coats and booms and stuff. And there were horsies there, but they didn't respond when I neighed at them. And there were doggies -- I liked the doggies. There was one doggie that I got to pet and pet and pet and that was the best part. But Mama and Dada kept talking to this other kid that was there with his Mama and Dada and baby sister -- he was older than me, and they kept telling him about something called the Revolution and the British and I really have no idea what they were talking about. All I know is there were lots of booms.

These guys in the funny outfits made lots of booms. 

But they weren't even really big booms and they didn't even make anything fall down when they boomed like in my construction video. In my video, there is a big tower that they blow up and it falls down and there is a really big boom. I could watch that video over and over again. Sometimes Mama and I have watched just the part when there is the tower falling down 10 times in a row. But at this place, I really had no idea why there were all these booms and no big things being destroyed. What good are booms without destruction, I ask you?

Dada seemed to really like whatever we were watching, but I just wanted to chew on my fingers.

At least I got to be outside and see horsies and doggies. And the booms were kind of okay. Kind of. Next time they take me somewhere with people in funny hats and costumes though, I want to at least see some more trucks. I don't even think those people in the funny costumes knew how to drive trucks. That would be such a boring world, if there were no trucks! There were some trucks in the parking lot though, so I guess that was okay. I really liked the trucks in the parking lot.

As you see here, I found the booms somewhat unimpressive...

I love hats

This morning's headwear selections included a duck "basket" and a cookie "tin". I say, they are all hats.

I really do think most people are dreadfully limited as to what they consider appropriate headwear. I mean, with all the options available for fashionable chapeaus, why would you limit yourself to what is considered by the mass populous as a "hat"? Why not branch out? 

One can even be fashionably hatted in the bath. When boats aren't available, bubbles make fine headpieces.

At play? How about an empty blocks bucket? Can't you see, the possibilities are endless!

And then of course, for the traditionalists, there is the classic "R2D2" look (one of my favorites) or the "Mama's hat" style.

 

And I don't think hats should be limited to people either. I am constantly trying to tell the cats about fashionable head wear. Why do I love hats so much? I don't know. Maybe it has to do with one of my favorite bedtime stories where a bear buys the moon a hat for his birthday, and then when the hat falls out of the tree the bear put it in, he thinks the moon got him a hat too. But then he loses it. Yeah, kind of a weird story, but I love it, and if a bear and the moon can be fashionably attired in fancy headwear, then gosh darn it, I will be too. Even if I don't have an actual "hat" to wear.

 

See, even celestial bodies deserve to wear nice hats. 

Veni, vidi, vacuum

The vacuum and I have a very special relationship.

I love when Mama does her chores like I tell her to. Like yesterday morning, I was kind of tired of stepping on crushed up pieces of cheerios and goldfish crackers from yesterday's snacks. So I took her hand, led her to the gate and said "vacuum". Surprisingly enough, she listened to me and got the vacuum out! I love helping Mama vacuum.  I admit, that thing used to scare me worse than frog boots, but now, man, I think vacuuming is the coolest. And I'm really good at helping Mama figure out all the complicated vacuum parts.

I know this piece goes in here somehow... 

I think my favorite part of the vacuum is the way it lights up and makes that awesome vroom sound. And the fact that a bunch of the attachments also make good trumpets. Though Mama doesn't seem to think that putting my mouth all over the vacuum attachments is a good thing. Can't figure out why.

Hey, Mama, I think you missed a spot under the table, That's okay, I'll get it. 

Anyway, I have to say, I don't think Mama would get near as much done with her chores if it wasn't for my help. She always says I'm such a good helper, even if sometimes it's in that tone she uses with Dada when she says he's being "so nice" or when she says she's "fine, dear". But I know she means it. I am a very helpful boy after all.

I know what I want

My Mama can be so clueless sometimes. I mean, I don't think I'm being unclear as to what I want when I grab her hand, drag her over to the gate to the kitchen, and very clearly say "cookie". Or when I pull her to the other gate, the one that leads to outside, and say "outside" or "chalk" or "walk", you'd think she'd be able to figure it out. Sometimes, I think she's even laughing at me. Like I'm being cute. I know how and when to be cute. When I smear yogurt or sweet potato or avocado all over my hair and face and shirt, I know just how cute to be to make her not mad at me. 

See? How could you ever be mad at sweet little me?

But when I want something, when I REALLY want something, I expect to get it. And sometimes, she complies, even though she gets that tone in her voice that seems to say "are you sure you want that?" Like when I wanted to read the "British Columbia" cookbook for a bedtime story. She seemed to think it was a little weird, but she complied, and did a fine job making up a story to go with the pictures. What can I say, I like pictures of cooked fish. 

I am a purveyor of much fine literature, though I think George R.R. Martin could use more tractors in his stories.

But why can't I have a cookie whenever I want? Or go outside and play with Mama when she's leaving for work? Isn't playing with me or giving me what I want more important than anything else they could be doing?  Sigh. Maybe someday my parents will understand. It's so hard being me. 

Tractor, Tractor, TRACTOR

This is me explaining to Mama and Dada how tractors work. 

So, my Mama and Dada took me to this awesome place on Saturday. There were some sheep and some doggies and some animals that Mama said were cows, but I know she was wrong because cows are black and white and these were brown, so clearly they were doggies. I tried to tell her, but she kept making me moo anyway.

 See, clearly doggies.

Anyway, but even though my Mama and Dada kept wanting me to see all the animals, which admittedly, were kind of neat, there were a few things there that I just HAD to see up close and in person. The TRACTORS!!! I LOVE tractors. They are the coolest thing ever. Close second are fire engines, backhoes, and excavators (for some reason Mama and Dada always smile at me when I say "excavator". I don't understand what's so funny.) But tractors, man, they are better than cheese, better than cookies, better than sticks, better than all sorts of stuff. I really wanted to explore and climb the first tractor I saw, but Mama said no, and I just didn't know why. She said it was dangerous or something. How could a tractor ever be dangerous for a tractor expert like me?

Sign? What sign?

Oh, that sign.

But then we found another tractor and Mama said I could sit on that one, and it was so fun! I told Mama all about how to drive a tractor and the sounds tractors make and all sorts of stuff. It was the coolest thing EVER.

And then, the next day we went to the store, some place called "Joann Fabrics" to get some fabric to cover some pillows, and you know what I saw there? TRACTORS. They had all sorts of fabrics with TRACTORS on them. (http://www.joann.com/search/_john_deere/) I insisted Mama get me some, and she did, and she said she's going to make me a pillow with tractors on it. I held the fabric in my lap the whole way home. My Mama is so cool. I hope she actually knows how to sew.

The parts of my new tractor pillow. Don't screw it up, Mama.

Black Eye Blues

So, last night got my first black eye. It was bound to happen sometime. You know, the battle scars of a rough and tough toddler. My Mama is all freaking out about it, but really it's not that bad. I mean, you should have seen the other baby. Well, actually, there was no other baby...just me, and the  wooden arm of the futon.

See, it's not THAT bad.

Dada seems to think it is somewhat my fault it happened. See, I used to have quite the taste for the foam edge guards they tried to put on the futon arms for my protection. Is it MY fault that they were just the night consistency to help my aching gums? Is it MY fault that the adhesive used to attach them to the futon was so delightfully sticky and fun to touch? Is it MY fault that when they tried to hold the foam edges on by wrapping them with duct tape, the duct tape itself became just too much of a tempting challenge to try and destroy? Is is MY fault that duct tape is no match for a teething toddler? I mean, how could they put such tempting material right in my reach, and NOT expect me to play with it/eat it?

Me at 8 months old, ever the rebel.

So last night, I was just playing around, and I slipped, and I banged my face into the previously protected arm of the futon. I totally took it like a tough guy, though, I only cried into my Mama's chest for maybe 10-15 minutes.

But now, I really think they are getting paranoid. They keep putting locks on everything, and removing all my favorite climbing toys, like chairs and shelves, and even putting gates on the windows, which totally obstructs my truck viewing. How's a kid supposed to have ANY fun?

Scary Frog Boots

Yesterday, Mama bought me rainboots. Apparently, she wanted something to keep my feet dry in the rain so I could go splash in puddles or something. I ask you, what fun is splashing in puddles if you are trying to stay DRY? I personally think that shoes are overrated and that I should be allowed to run around barefoot all the time. You know, like if I lived in the jungle with all the animals, I wouldn't need any stupid shoes. They interfere with my climbing anyway. It's much easier to climb on top of the coffee table and dance around in circles if I'm not wearing shoes. 

But I digress. Anyway, Mama bought me these boots -- I guess she thought they were cute or something, but OH MY GOSH THEY ARE THE SCARIEST THINGS EVER. She says they are supposed to be "froggie" boots. I like froggie things. My froggie adventure buddy backpack is the coolest guy ever. But to me, they don't look like froggies. They look like some sort of demented snake monster emerging from the earth to eat me alive. I mean, just LOOK at these things. The eyes look like they alone could suck my soul out of my little body, and that smile...

But instead of listening to me while I tried to express my discomfort at the boots from the most evilest place you can imagine, she tries to put them on, thinking, as she says, that I'm just being "ornery". I am never "ornery". When I am discontented, I simply state my mind. So, she doesn't have the acumen to determine the context of my very distinct types of whines. Excuse me for only having a few hundred word vocabulary in your pedantic language. I'm working on it. 

Anyway, so she puts the boots on and I'm screaming and screaming because I think they are eating me from the foot up, and she takes me outside and tries to demonstrate splashing in a puddle, and then I finally kick one of the boots off, and she tries to put it ON again, and I'm like, MAMA MAMA MAMA, but she just keeps trying to talk to me like I'm being irrational or something until FINALLY she takes the things off and puts on my regular old shoes. I couldn't calm down until Dada hid the evil rubber demons out of sight. And then we went on a rather pleasant walk. WITHOUT the stupid boots.

Then of course, scientists that they are, they later had to test if I was REALLY afraid of the boots. As if all the screaming wasn't proof enough. I was having a nice time, playing with Mama, when Dada comes in holding THE EVIL RUBBER DEMONS! I screamed and ran to Mama, trying my best to get away from those horrible things before they tried to swallow my soul again. I don't understand my parents sometimes. I just hope the image of those horrid snakelike smiles don't haunt me in my sleep...