Who's there?
Two kids.
Two kids who?
Two kids who don't know how to tell a knock-knock joke.
Seriously, there is almost nothing funnier than trying to teach a 2- and 3-year-old how to participate in or tell a knock-knock joke. I told them the "orange you glad I didn't say banana" one recently, so in the retelling, it goes something like this:
Owen: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
Owen: Banana who?
Or this:
Owen: Knock knock.
Me: Who's there?
Owen: Orange.
Me: Orange who?
Owen: (Throws mic to the ground, walks out. There is no need for a punch line with skills like these.)
And just forget about them telling each other jokes. It's comedy, just not the way it was intended.
Owen's vocab has exploded lately, much later than Avery's did. It seemed like his single words were in the thousands, and then overnight he started stringing them together. Now, he can tell jokes (haha), and start requesting "Mommy tuck me in" as early as 3 p.m. His favorite book is Demolition, which he calls "demolicious" because Avery's favorite book is Pinkalicious. He's proud of all of his newfound accomplishments, proclaiming "I did it!" when he does extraordinary feats like pulling his pants off and running around naked.
Speaking of naked. So, one day recently I was making dinner. I do "cardio cooking" wherein I put them in front of the TV, pray they watch it, and run back and forth checking on them and making sure they're not getting in much trouble. Well, my motherly instincts told me one day that it was too quiet, so I ran out to find Owen half in the fireplace playing in ashes, and ashes strewn around in front of the fireplace, which Avery was happily smearing around. After a moment of "What the....WHAT!?" I cleaned it up, thankful it could have been oh so much worse than it was. Anyway, like an hour later Owen is running around sans diaper, so proud, and I'm like, he had better not even think about pooping without a diaper on. Because, hey, maybe it's happened before. So I do a visual sweep of the living room and my eyes land upon this sight:
And for a moment I'm like, "Is that POOP!?" And then I realized that it's just a log from the fireplace that I somehow missed in ash cleanup.
They're hilarious and crazy and maddening. They can be so sweet and cooperative one minute and devilish and contrary the next. They can say and do the cutest things ("froggit" for a frog (ribbit!)), and then punch you the next. Avery can make sure Owen has his favorite toy, and then say something like "I just want to throw him away" or "I guess we'll just leave him here" when we're on a walk and he's slow to catch up.
I asked Avery what we should get Alan for his birthday recently. Her response? "A deer costume, muddy shoes and a brand-new car." She could be a future game show host. She wakes up in the morning and immediately puts on a princess dress. She'll change outfits several times a day, and it's hard to find her without butterfly wings or a tiara or plastic princess shoes on. I cannot take credit for outfits these days as I have no say anymore. She'll tell me: "You have to pick your battles!" And she's right.
She's given up napping, which is fine until it isn't. And it usually isn't at some point before bedtime, between the hours of 5 and 8, when the horns and claws and fangs appear and the sweet child of the day has disappeared and morphed into a demon who cannot be convinced to cooperate. Once in the middle of one of her fits of exhaustion she told me she just wanted to cry on my shoulder. That, of course, makes the crazy worth it.
The other day I asked if I could get a hug and a kiss. Her response was "And some hearts!" "Hearts?" I asked. "We have hearts above our heads because we love each other." And seriously, heart nearly exploded with the sweetness.
And then when I told her to look at my belly and how big it had gotten, she responded with, "Did your butt get bigger too?"
 |
| 21 weeks |
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Baby 3.
Baby 3 who?
Baby 3 due September 25!
Maybe they get their joke-telling skills from their mother.
