Short Lists

Two Very Middle-Class Complaints:

1. I hate when the cleaning lady puts my favorite headlamp somewhere strange, like the potato-and-onion basket, so I cannot find it when I get up before dawn to go for a trail run and instead have to take my reading-in-the-tent headlamp or else one of Max's. Because yes, my three-year-old owns more than one headlamp. Of course, it is totally possible (and more likely) that Ben is the one who put it there.

2. I have to go back to Whole Foods to get the correct brand of key lime flavor soy yogurt for Max. Because, see, there's actually more than one brand of that stuff, and he likes the other kind.

One Very Cute Baby's Excuse That is Too Baby-Related to Post to Facebook:

1. Ben, stalling at bedtime, said--as I was about to turn out the light--"Poop!"
"Do you have to poop, Ben?" I asked.
He nodded. "Poop! Pee! Potty!"
"You want to poop and pee on the potty?"
Vigorous nodding. "Huh!" (Short for "Uh-huh!"; it is how he says "Yes!").
"Ok. Let's go use the potty and then it is bedtime."

Unzip sleep sack up. Unzip pajamas down. Remove diaper. Sit him down on potty seat. (He is 19 months old. He doesn't actually use the potty yet, though we've been starting to encourage it, and sometimes he asks to use it.)

"Candles!" It's kind of dark the bathroom, but that's not what he's talking about. His new favorite books are the ones with pictures of cakes: the middle (party) scene of "Hippos Go Berserk," the Saturday page of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar," the last page of "The Jolly Barnyard."

That's that book he wanted, where Farmer Brown is seated at his table and his wife is carrying a lovely birthday cake for him. Ben tries to pluck Farmer Brown's cake off the page ("Plate!") and touches the cake ("Candles! Cake! Mmmmm!"). He points out the coffee pot (well, he points out the ash bucket next to the woodstove and calls it a coffee pot).

Anyway. So I went to get the book and zoom, Ben was up on his feet and racing away, buck naked except for his footie PJs and his sleep sack, both waving from his neck like fleece capes, making a beeline for Chris and Max.

We tried again.

Somehow he got away from me again, the pants-free avenger in search of Daddy.

I suddenly recalled that Max used to use the same excuse around this age, swearing he had to use the potty (or maybe he was a little older and actually using the potty at the time, making his excuse more believable). With Ben, it's pure hope that makes me fall for this excuse. He obviously realizes, despite our thus-far low-key approach to potty usage (for him, I mean), that it would please us if he used it, and so promising to use it can stall bedtime.

Good one, Ben. Time to diaper you up and get you back to bed.