Seven Quick Takes: Cute Toddler Edition

1. Last night the boys and Elwood were walking downtown to see a movie and Stella thought we should tag along. She was disappointed when they got ahead of us, until I asked if she'd like to go for ice cream. "Ox weem!" she exclaimed. "I wuff ox weem."


2. I could eat her up with a spoon sometimes.


3. On the way home we played Scary Dinosaur. She would growl and shout "Somp! Somp!" while stamping her little feet in their flowered sandals. This was my cue to wave my hands and shriek "Oh no! It's a terrible dinosaur." I would run down the bike trail ahead of her until she stopped growling and said "Eek!" "Eek" means it's time to switch places so she can be the scare-ee.


4. Sometimes she wakes in the night crying and tells me she's sad about a scary monster. I wonder where that comes from? I'm not sure where she's been seeing scary monsters.


5. She is like a lot of toddlers in her eagerness to assert possession. She'll routinely let us know that something is hers. Instead of saying "mine!" she shouts "mine's!" It makes sense, if you're hearing "yours" and "hers" and "ours," to give "mines" a whirl. It makes me smile, though, to hear that improvised double possessive -- like it's not just hers, it's reallyreallyreally hers.


6. A few days ago I was reading some old posts and came across this one where I wrote about Joe. He's my explorer, I said, and described his spontaneous visit to the neighbors at just-barely-three. Stella has an explorer streak herself. Yesterday I sent the two of them outside together, thinking they'd play ball in the yard for a few minutes. When I sent Alex out to relieve Joe, they were nowhere in sight. She had led him down to the school playground, half a mile away. I am having a little adrenaline surge remembering it. (The three of us had a talk about the capital-I Importance of telling mama before you leave the block. I love it that our kids feel comfortable navigating the neighborhood on foot, but yikes.)


7. I took Stella with me to campus today because I thought she'd be happier that way, playing at the house where she stayed on Fridays during the school year instead of staying home with a fairly new babysitter. She had forgotten, though, that it takes an hour to get to Theresa's house. About two-thirds of the way there she asked to nurse. "Siddamidda," she said emphatically. "Siddamidda?" I echoed, baffled. "Yes!" she answered, pleased that I'd understood so quickly. "Sid-a-mid-a," I repeated slowly, and then the light dawned: sit in the middle. "Darling," I said, "who will drive the car if I sit in the middle?"
   
   She was indignant. "Come on, Mom," I could see her thinking, "why are you bothering me with details? Make it so!" That's one of my favorite things about toddlers, that certainty that mom can make the magic happen. Having a teenager at the same time makes it clear that it's an evanescent certainty. I'll enjoy it while it lasts.

More quick takes here.