A stay-at-home-dad offers thoughts on the joys and sorrows, and everything in between, of fatherhood.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Boo?

My beloved angel's favorite intonation is that of a question. "More?" she says, meaning one of the following: "May I have more, please?" "Do what you just did again, please." Or, simply, "More." She says it a couple of dozen times a day, and I will be sad when she finds another way to say these things. She is assembling multi-part sentences, though verbs and prepositions aren't a big part of the mix yet. "Boo shoes walk mama" and "here mama deck" are typical. "Up" means "I'd like to get down, please," "pick me up, please," and "get up, please." "Ice" means "my mouth hurts, please help me by, at the very least, getting me some ice." "Boo?" said on its own means, as likely as not, "I don't think we should be going on this walk without the family dog, and I would be far happier if you would go put him on the leash and bring him along." Last night, as often happens, she was willing to eat only if Boo was given one bite for every one of hers. He's not even that big a fan of peanut butter and jelly, but he was willing to play along if it made his sister happy.

Thank God for Bubbles

The boss and I went to the Children's Museum for the first time today. They have an under-three program on Monday mornings that includes a story-hour, a sing-along, and no mean big kids anywhere to be found. We sat around a mini-parachute on the floor while participating in the sing-along with a lot of other toddlers and their care-givers (mostly mommies, evidently). Most of the kids, like Annalee, were on the shy side in the face of somewhat massive overstimulation, but the environment managed to be happy, and so did she. After the parachute was lifted and lowered to the rhythm (or almost) of a song, it was folded up and put away, which most of the moms took as a sign that the musical portion of the morning was complete. Those relative few of us who stayed, though, were present for a couple of more sing-along songs to the accompaniment of a high-production bubble machine. I cannot swear that Annalee ever saw bubbles before; certainly, she had never seen so many in one place. She chased some, watched others, and took in the music on an easier basis. Thank God for bubbles.