In an effort to try and get Finny to start thinking about some of the changes he is going to face this year, including moving to a ‘Big Boy’ bed, potty training, and giving up his beloved Tissa (his pacifier), I have been starting to lay some of the groundwork towards these life changes by occasionally talking casually about how these adjustments are coming up.
A few weeks ago I tried to introduce the concept of giving up Tissa by explaining to him that Tissas are for babies and Finny is a big boy. He must’ve been rolling this over in his mind today at lunch as he sat quietly munching his egg salad sandwich and spooning heaping spoonfuls of applesauce into his mouth.
“Mommy?” he began, “Babies need Tissas, don’t they?”
“Yes, Finny. Babies need Tissas. Are you a baby?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, you’re not a baby, are you? You’re a big boy, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Then, he thought for a moment about where this was going and countered with,
“But my shirt is long enough and my apples are good.”
Then he broke it down with a chair dance to Duffy’s pop hit “Mercy” with a little ‘raise the roof’ arm pumping and some wicked, crazy leg shaking.
I nearly fell out of my chair.
You win again, Finn. You always do.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Great Debate
This morning at breakfast, Finny and I were engaged in a fierce debate about his age. As hard as I persisted with all my logic and my presentation of cold, hard facts, his rhetoric was just too advanced and I was ultimately defeated as he made a case I simply could not dispute.
The debate went something like this:
“How old are you, Finny?”
“I’m five.”
“No, you’re not! How old are you?”
“I’m five, Mommy.”
“Finny, are you two?”
“No, I’m five.”
“Okay, you’re five. How old is Mommy?”
“You’re five.”
“No, I’m not. Do you know how old I am?”
“You’re two.”
“No, I’m thirty-one.”
“No, you’re not thirty-one!” He yelled with deep frustration in his voice. “You’re a kangaroo!”
And there you have it.
The debate went something like this:
“How old are you, Finny?”
“I’m five.”
“No, you’re not! How old are you?”
“I’m five, Mommy.”
“Finny, are you two?”
“No, I’m five.”
“Okay, you’re five. How old is Mommy?”
“You’re five.”
“No, I’m not. Do you know how old I am?”
“You’re two.”
“No, I’m thirty-one.”
“No, you’re not thirty-one!” He yelled with deep frustration in his voice. “You’re a kangaroo!”
And there you have it.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A Miracle Morning
It is some kind of miracle that it is 8:45 and both my babies are still asleep. I have been sitting in silence with my cup of coffee making my way through some emails just waiting for them to wake up. Multiple projects I could’ve started, but figured they’d be up at any moment so didn’t want to get in deep to anything big. But here I am, an hour and a half later wondering how this is possible and are they alive up there?
I am showered and have actually finished a full mug of hot coffee. The sun is actually out before our day has started. Oh, there he is…Finny is up and for the first time in weeks, I am ready for him to be up. Good feeling.
Oh, Charlie is up now too…now our chaos begins! But how glad am I that I had some time to myself before my head starts spinning. God is good.
And we’re off!
I am showered and have actually finished a full mug of hot coffee. The sun is actually out before our day has started. Oh, there he is…Finny is up and for the first time in weeks, I am ready for him to be up. Good feeling.
Oh, Charlie is up now too…now our chaos begins! But how glad am I that I had some time to myself before my head starts spinning. God is good.
And we’re off!
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