table for (number) 2

It's official. Raisin has a pooping place.

I've heard stories how diapered kids sometimes find a regular secret spot to do their business. A few visits back, my niece Izzy ducked behind our wood-burning stove to do hers (luckily, there was no fire). So I wondered if little e would ever have himself a pooping place.

Recent observation concludes the answer is a resounding yes. Seems he prefers the comfort of the north end of the dining table -- not quite under the table, and somewhat hidden behind a chair.

Sorta makes you wonder what goes on inside those little brains that tells them that some things are best done in private.

college fund

Today we went to the bank to cash in our year's worth of collected change. Every time we do this, we each guess how much it will turn out to be. Whoever comes closest without going over wins. We got the teller involved in our game too and as it turns out, he had the closest guess (Little does he know, whoever wins, gets the money. Sucka!). I totally overestimated because I mistakenly thought we purchased our TV with our last change cash-in, but in fact, that was purchased from our cd sales on Amazon. Stupid Amazon. And here I was convinced the teller poured half of it into his own secret piggybank in the back.

So the total came to (drum roll please) something like $256. Hello college fund!

At this rate, by the time he's 18, the boy should have about a week's worth of tuition.

frue

The little man does this thing that cracks me up. Remember true/false tests and how when you didn't know the answer, you'd make an illegible letter that looked sort of like a "t" but sort like an "f" too? Maybe that was just me.

Anyhoo, little e does something like that when you ask him to point something out in a book. If he's unsure, he'll hesitantly point at one thing, then ever-so-slyly slide his finger over the page to point at another thing until you say, "You're right!" as if he never really meant the first thing he pointed at.

Sneaky cheater.

hello, my name is IDIOT

Okay, my glimpse in the bathroom mirror just revealed that I've been sitting here at the coffee shop for the past two hours wearing a "Hello, my name is" sticker on my chest, left over from a client meeting. Dork.

That explains the funny look from the barista.

he gets more like norman every day

a picture is worth 1,000 words

Look at it, would you? It's as if he's possessed by the ball.

It won't be difficult to remember little e's first word. After all, he says it 8,000 times a day. BAWWWWLLLLLLL. Ball this, ball that. Ball, ball, ball, ball, ball, ball. It's often the first thing he says when he wakes up in the morning -- and the last thing he says before he goes to sleep. We've even witnessed him saying it IN HIS SLEEP.

Usually after about the fifth or sixth time he says it, people in our class smile and say, "That's so cute, he must really like balls." I think that's just their polite way of saying, "Your child clearly needs help."

He takes every opportunity to seek and identify all balls and ball-like items -- anything circular in shape for that matter. The other day we went out to lunch at a Mexican sandwich shop, once inside he pointed and exclaimed "Ball." A ball in a Mexican sandwich shop? Highly unlikely! I thought. But there it was, a giant beach ball tucked snugly behind a plant.

And just so I don't forget, here are some of his other first words (none nearly as comprehensible as ball): Star. Dog. Spoon. Lights. Milk. Keys. Blue. Flower. Bird. He used to say "book," but apparently that's been phased out by the ball portion of his brain.

a sight to behold

I often pass the Aveda Institute on my drive home. Inside, Jose Eber wannabes practice hairdo techniques on mannequin heads. Stopped at a light by the school yesterday, I saw well-coiffed young beauticians wandering aimlessly about with their practice heads which, from a distance, looked like victims of decapitation. This made me giggle.

our little secret

Lately, we've been giving Raisin different distraction devices to hold during diaper changes in hopes of avoiding the twist-crawl escape combo.

Today, he took particular interest in papa's toothbrush on the bathroom counter. So, I gave it to him to hang on to while I changed his diaper. It just so happens he was producing some unusually messy and abundant poopies today. The minute I untaped his diaper, down went the hands for his usual boyish "exploration." But this time, there was a thick coating of soft poop smeared all over his target area. And before I knew it, it was covering his hand -- that's when he reached for the toothbrush in his other hand.

Sorry Papa.

aulophobia

I'll have to remember this when Raisin's older, in case he develops a strange, "unexplained" fear of flutes.

This Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa S. gave him a sweet, multi-piece set of wooden instruments, including a small sampling of "wind instruments" -- a flute, a harmonica and everyone's favorite, the kazoo.

Today, after serenading him with a beautiful flute, um, er, serenade, I handed it back to little e and told him to try. After several failed attempts at producing any sound, he gave it everything he got, and blew the end of the flute as if his life depended on it. At that moment, a very loud flute-like "TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!" came out and instantly, he started to cry and shoved the flute away.

Yes, apparently, enough cases of flute phobia have been documented to merit naming it. If you don't believe me, go here: http://www.changethatsrightnow.com/problem_detail.asp?SDID=319:1399

So, while the kid does play a mean triangle, a career as a flautist is probably not in his future.