Monday, December 24, 2007

Procrastionation - or Why You Should Never Speak In Front of a Toddler

Let me first address the beginning of this post's title: Procrastination. We are hosting two Christmas dinners back to back starting tonight. And Justin currently has the kids at work with him. Which means I should really be doing prep work in the kitchen or cleaning the living room or even something more self centered but nonetheless on my to-do list, such as straightening my hair.
I'm on the Internet.
Now to the second portion of the title. Jude has taken on the personality of a teenager. He's two. It started in the mornings. I would go in to wake the little guy up and Jude would roll around pulling the covers over his head, moaning, "Nooooo, sleeeeeeping." And then I would finally drag him out of bed and he would sulk around like a 15 year old who didn't study for a test that day.

But let me share little snippets of conversations actually taking place in the Donovan household on a now daily basis.
"Jude, it's time for bed." (For example, said by either myself or Justin).
"So come put your jammies on."
"Nah," very dismissive, with a shrug of his little two year old shoulders.
"Um. Yeah. Come here, now. It's bed time." The parent starts to sound a little stern. A little exasperated, a little shocked to hear the previously sweet little boy being so disobedient.
"You're ridiculous!" Jude will yell, at which point Justin and I will turn to each other.
"Did he just call me 'ridiculous'?"

This little conversation might play out two or three times in a day. Always ending the same way - with Justin and I unable to stop smirking at the cheeky little monkey and probably a pretty good tickle session where we repeat over and over "Don't tell me I'm ridiculous, YOU'RE ridiculous. YOU'RE ridiculous!" while Jude screams with laughter.

I mean really, ridiculous? Where does he get this stuff from? It's ridiculous.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

The Doctor is in

Jude started playing an adorable game of alter egos. He started pretending he was Major Bedhead one day and he's been a bunch of different names ever since. Some days he's Roger, other days he's Donald, our next door neighbour. Last Friday he up and decided that his new name is Doctor.
We know he's the Doctor when he walks around with a pencil in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. If you should dare call him "Jude" he will get a little belligerent, "No!" he'll yell, "Name Doctor! Name Doctor!" as he jabs his thumb into his little chest.
Sophie is sick today, she was awake at 5am, throwing up all over the place and she hasn't stopped since. I had her resting in the infant seat while I ran up to replace her "back-up" outfit for the third time that morning and when I came down, Doctor was leaning over her, pencil poised above his papers saying, "Matter, Bophie girl? Matter?" and then he gave her a little kiss.
What a sweet little doctor he is.