Three anecdotes.

1. This one is less of an anecdote and more of a current habit. Jim's been on a major cereal kick lately, and I'm guilty of occasionally leaving him on the couch with a bowl of cheerios and a stack of books or an episode of Curious George. Inevitably he pours his milkless cheerios all over the couch, at which point he runs to get me, tugs on my shirt, and announces "cereal uh-oh!" This is pronounced "see-ree-deedle uh-owwwwwwwwwwwwwwww" and is the cutest thing you've ever heard.


The pictures in this post have nothing to do with the stories, but I figured y'all might stage a coup if I made a post with no pictures, so here.

2. This one illustrates the importance of wording when dealing with tiny children who want to do everything for themselves. Yesterday Jim asked me for a banana. So naturally I get him one, but when I go to peel it before handing it to him, he starts sobbing hysterically, so I just give him the unpeeled banana and figure he'll come get me when he feels like eating it. No such luck.
"Do you want me to peel your banana?" I ask.
"No no no," Jim says, clutching his banana.
I come back a couple minutes later. "Can I peel the banana for you?"
"NO!" And out come the angry eyes.
I return, feeling proud of my idea for convincing him. "Do you want me to help you peel your banana?"
"...no."
Aha. Uncertainty. "Do you want to help me peel the banana?"
"Da," he says, with a decisive nod, and he hands it over.



3. Scene: I'm making brownies while Jim watches from his high chair. Jim sees me get out the baking chocolate, and his eyes get HUGE. Before I can hide toss it in the melting pot, he starts pointing and making an assortment of oh-god-I'm-starving noises.
"Mmmmmmmm," he howls, signing for cookies as vigorously as he can.
"Buddy, this isn't good. It's yucky. Not yummy. Yucky."
I'm trying to make myself clear, but he's obviously not having it. He keeps signing and looking distraught, so I hand him a bit of the unsweetened chocolate. Let the poor kid find out for himself how gross it is, right? Ought to be more effective than trying to tell him, anyway. So I give him the chocolate, and he pops it into his mouth without hesitation.
Immediately his face changes from glee to tragedy. His eyes scrunch shut, his mouth puckers, he turns bright red like he's about to cry. But he's not about to be proven wrong, so he steels himself with everything he has and slowly raises a trembling finger into the air: "GOOD."