On one hand, it's kind of like living with a raccoon. Or maybe a family of raccoons. I have a system of where things go (ahhh, organization) and Scotty seems determined to foil my system. Case in point: just the other day, I was looking for the tongs to flip some bacon. They usually go in the drawer next to the stove. But they weren't there. After a thorough search, I finally discovered them in Scotty's drawer, the one we gave him so he can store his take-out menus, orange ball, and this little doll made out of cedar chips (the staples for any toddler. Seriously, this kid loves take-out menus. Maybe it's the glossy pictures?).
Anyways, the fact that Scotty is now mobile AND curious makes life that much harder, because even if you put an object away, there is no guarantee it will be there when you return. I must have spent two hours last week looking for the ceiling fan remote, only to find it stashed in one of the kitchen cabinets. I was seriously contemplating Googling "ceiling fan motor burn-out" when Scotty, not me, produced the remote and we were finally able to turn the darn thing off. Likewise, sippy cups mysteriously disappear for days. It's not like they are strewn across the carpet anymore; they are all hidden in various caches around the house.
Every day is like a scavenger hunt when you live with a toddler.
And I'm also starting to realize Scotty's receptive language is really picking up. Just this morning, on a whim, I asked him to show me his orange ball. (I knew it was in the drawer, along with my tongs. Still.) Without hesitation, he marched right over to the drawer, opened it up, and produced the orange ball. My only thought (as I trilled, "Good boy!!") was, "Crap, we really need to watch our language around this little one." And with Packer football in the state that it is currently, I think I might have to banish Brian from the house on Sundays. The yelling that erupted from the family yesterday morning would have made a sailor blush.
Scotty is also obsessed with naming objects. It doesn't actually have to be what he thinks it is, he's just going to name it anyways. Case in point: ball. He loves saying "Ball!" We were in Whole Foods last week, and everything there was "Ball!" The plum was a ball. The peaches were balls. The oranges, apples, and kiwis were balls. I finally had to escape the produce aisle so he would stop yelling, "Ball!"
My favorite, though, happened this morning. I was carrying him through our bathroom (as he frantically played with the ceiling fan remote, of course) and he suddenly pointed to the floor and yelled, "Ball!" My first thought was that there was a cock roach there or something. But upon closer inspection, he was actually pointing at a cotton ball, which was, of course, round. And to him, anything that is round is a ball. He was delighted to pull it apart and feel the softness of it, although it didn't look much like a ball when he was done with it. Silly kid.
He hasn't said any new words lately, but ball, juice, cheese, and Da-Da! are definitely among his favorites. He also like to say, "Uh-oh!" but it comes out more like, "Ah-oooooh!" He looks so earnest when he says it; he even sticks out his bottom lip and coos. It's hard not to smile.
We have a busy week coming up. We're off to music lessons this afternoon, and Brian's birthday is on Wednesday. More Paid Humiliation on Thursday afternoon (he slept through his make-up lesson last week, simply delaying the inevitable), and on Friday, a few friends and I are getting together to create our own little preschool. Seven kids, a variety of ages, once a week, and we're going to rotate houses. I'm especially excited for snack time.
But first, I need to find my tongs. Again.