I keep stepping on magnetic letters and saying, "Arrr! I'm about to just throw these things away! They're always all over the floor instead of the fridge anyway!"
RJ is always willing to help his mama: "RJ," he says.
RJ says "RJ" (pronounced Ah-Jah) in response to many things, and it always means a full and complete sentence and changes according to the voice he uses.
-During fireworks, in a whiny voice, it means, "I'm scared. Hold me mom!" (aaaah-jaaaaah)
-If his brother tries to take his toy, it's a stern voice, obviously meaning, "That's mine! Back off brother!" (AH-JAH!!!) **This also applies if the toy doesn't belong to him because we have trained him as such, always saying, "He's the baby. Just give it to him." Something we are really going to pay the price for someday, either by intensive retraining or monetarily giving him everything he desires.**
It will obviously be the first option since we don't want to raise a douche. Just saying.
-If he has something his brothers don't have, it's in a sing-song voice. Leo: "Why does RJ have Kool Aid?" (aaaahhhh-jaaaaHHH)
So, back to RJ being the helpful little cutie that he is, he says, "RJ!" which obviously meant, "You need help, Ma? I got this."
And he starts throwing all of the magnetic letters into the trash.
"No, no! Put them back on the fridge!"
"Why?" he asks.
I understand his confusion as they will be back on the floor later this afternoon.
As a parent (or a sibling or an aunt or a dog) who lives with children (or even visits children on a sporadic basis, at best) you KNOW what it's like to step on Legos. Or Hot Wheels. Or that time I stepped on a plastic ring -- the kind that come on the tops of cupcakes for different holidays. You know? The kind that are now banned from coming into our house? Yeah, those. It was a leprechaun one left over from St. Patrick's Day.
I knew those things were evil when Melissa Bruder and I watched the movie back in 1993.
So I step on this ring and the part of the ring that goes around your finger (the ring part of the ring?) breaks. And what happens, you ask? The rest of that ring makes a hole in the heel of my foot and decides to invade my flesh. It was around a quarter of an inch long. Yes, I measured. Why? Is that weird? Since it is curved in shape, when I tried to pull it out, I was met with resistance. I hobbled outside and called for my neighbor's help and she came to my rescue, pulling out the green bastard that tried to take me down.
Nothing a lil duct tape band aid couldn't fix.
Or how about another thing that has graced all of our floors? I'm talking about poop. As Elmo's Potty Time has taught my toddler, poop is a thing of many names: dookie, Number 2, caca, etc. However, I'm pretty sure that this is the only thing RJ has learned from his Elmo and all of his toilet wisdom. This is what happened just the other day:
RJ comes running through the house to sit on his frog potty.
He says, "Poop!"
Much excitement from me, "Are you going poop???" (Yes!!! Fantastic, I think!)
*insert here a little dream about being a diaper-free household*
He smiles.
"Floor," he says.
*squash dream here*
"Floor what?" I ask.
"Poop. Floor."
"What?"
He points.
*now imagine me running around the house, more or less in a cautious fashion, looking for dookie, Number 2, caca, etc. on my floor somewhere.*
I want to scream at him, "Learn to say the name of a room... Where the hell is the poop at???"
But I'm too busy running around with cleaning supplies in my hand.
I find said turd next to the toy box. Since this incident, if you ask my child where Elmo goes pee, he answers "toilet", but if you ask him where Elmo goes poop, he says "floor". I tell him that you can't go poop on the floor and he asks me why?
"Because then there's poop on the floor!"
And you know mommy is going to be the one to step on it...
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