Sunday, October 19, 2008
The Bogyman and the Chocolate Man
We were watching football this Sunday when Isaiah saw one of the players take off his helmet. He turned excitedly to me and said, "Mommy! It's a chocolate man." Michael and I had quite a time explaining that the man wasn't actually made of chocolate. I'm still not sure he entirely believes us. We've begun to realize that Isaiah is coming into a stage that will involve a lot of creative answers on our part. Not that we plan to lie to him constantly; he just asks questions that we don't know the answers to. Tonight in the car, he thoughtfully asked, "Is God coming soon?" Michael told him he hoped so. Later he asked us who the Bogyman is and we told him a little man made of boogers. We agreed he was a little yucky.
Still, Isaiah's reasoning skills and thoughtfulness are amazing to watch. I was playing with Melora and telling her how adorable she is when Isaiah walked by and I took the opportunity to praise him too. "You're adorable, Isaiah." "No, Mom. I'm not a-dorable. I'm a kid." He's also showing an increased interest in cause and effect, which I learned a little too late after he flushed our friends' bath stopper down their toilet. He later informed me that was a particularly interesting experiment. We actually go to that friend, Andrew's house twice a week and I watch him along with my two kids while his parents work. It's been so nice to have another regular playmate for my kids. Isaiah is really learning to share more and play cooperative games. He has figured out how to bring one toy for himself and another for Andrew (who is 11 months) so they won't steal from each other, and how to take turns with a toy they both want. The one thing Isaiah refuses to share is Melora. When Andrew toddles in Melora's direction, Isaiah will run in front of her with his arms thrown out protectively and shout, "No! That's my brother!"
Melora is constantly busy when she's not asleep. She will do a full sit up if necessary to reach a desirable object, and her giant-bush-baby eyes are constantly searching for fun. She still has the laugh that bursts out of her like a cannon, but if possible, it's even more joyful. First, she starts wiggling her whole body for a second or two, then she gives a big smile that takes up so much of her face her other features are all scrunched. Then she laughs a giant laugh like a shout that's so infectious, I'm still not immune to its power, nor do I ever suspect I will be. Melora rolls and rolls all around the floor to reach shiny or interesting objects, and she already has definite opinions on how we should behave around her. If she is sitting on my lap, but I'm looking at something besides her, she will grasp my face in both her tiny hands and forcefully turn it so I'm looking into her eyes. I'm also forbidden to talk while she's nursing or I will get the stink eye and occasionally a hand covering my mouth.
We went to the Como Zoo two weeks ago and saw the baby oragutan in the habitat. He had giant, sweet eyes, stick-up reddish hair, and a mischevious look on his face. "Oh!" I exclaimed, "He looks just like you, Melora." I heard a small gasp and looked up to see a scandalized mother nearby who apparently couldn't believe I had just compared my daughter to a monkey. Melora, if you read this one day, please understand it was a very cute monkey, and I think you're absolutely beautiful.