The Bobcat Submarine

One of my favorite things (I know, I always say that) is hearing the first words out of Oliver's mouth in the morning. It gives us some insight into his sleeping world. This morning, rolled over:

O: Can we eat breakfast in our submarine?

Mom: Well sure....we have a submarine?

O: A Bobcat submarine.

M: So we can dig underwater?

O: Yep. We can dig for crabs and the grabber hand will pick up the crabs and we can have them for dinner.

M: Right on.

Not Easy Being Your Knees

oh dear, those knees

connect the raspberries

one, two, three

cement and asphalt, foes

ouchy, couchy, mouchy, wowchy

who has known manicure

and pedicure

and the difference

from his earliest words

and I will always clean

these little fingers and toes

endless fascination with static electricity

Silly little things about this kiddo...

Oliver Today: 

Played: in the yard. Slept: in the car. Pee'd: in his potty, in the yard. Ate: in the bathtub. 

Not too obvoious that the prevailing parenting m.o. is Whatever Works. 

I have learned (and am learning) to go with the flow...

Tonite, he handed me a piece of bread that (honestly) had been on his table since lunch, said to me 'Here, take this. This is ancient.' Right. 

He watched at least a dozen aircraft of one form or another (one containing his father) from helicoptor to jet take off/land at the airport today.

Everything issuing from the O. seems to by rhyming and in rapid succession and has an -inski or -ooski ending (chinski, penski, henski, whenski, dadooski, shoeski, mamooski, etc.)...some kind of latent Dr. Seuss influence? My personal favorite is nope-ski dope-ski.

When asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, he thought, then responded 'Take photos of Araya Berdinka and eat cupcakes.' Check. 

This morning, successfully executed a couple of #1's, followed by a #2, in his potty, on his own, then again later (the former thankfully) in the yard. Almost has almost mastered the art of missing his feet.

Imagination is wild. He has a toy drill that is a 'donut gun' and he shoots donuts into your mouth. Somehow has tapped into my secret fantasies...

When 'sharing' a Mallard strawberry cone with him this afternoon, I was instructed, firmly, to 'lick, but don't bite, lick, but don't bite'. Yep. My kid.