O has a habit of taking one sock off while we're hanging around the house. Just one. Not sure what's so bothersome about the sock, or how that gets relieved by only removing one. But it does drive me a little crazy. As if we didn't lose enough socks via the laundry cycle, now I have to search for them throughout the house as well.
Anyway, a week or so ago, we were getting ready to go somewhere, and he only had one sock on. I told him he needed to get socks and shoes so we could get going. He produced a random sock from the floor, a completely different color than the one he had on. I told him that one wouldn't work, that it didn't match. So what? was his reply. Well, you need to have matching socks, I said. "Who says? Does the doctor, or God, say socks should match?"
Last week, we were playing in the basement, N. bringing me cups full of air to stir up, and O. and Daddy wrestling around on the floor. O. got the bright idea to take both of his hippity hop balls by the handles and use them sort of like boxing gloves to bonk J. on the head. He approached me to do the same, and I told him no way -- Mommy doesn't play rough like that. Given the permission to play rough "only with Daddy," the romping and head bopping got even more intense. I turned to N. and said "you don't need to play rough like that, do you, sweet girl?" She immediately dropped down on the floor, began crawling around and growling very loudly, and continued to do so for a good five minutes.
Tonight was a night that both of the small members of the small world were having issues getting to bed. N. was banging her baby's head against the crib rails, and whining, so I went in to rock her a little more, hoping to settle her a little before it turned into a full scale meltdown. She showed me her baby, said "baby" as if I'd forgotten its name, and then shoved it down underneath herself as if to hide it from me. Only then could she settle down and suck on the neck of my t-shirt.
Meanwhile, O. appeared at her door (he'd already had books and songs and been tucked in, but apparently had to take another potty break).
"Mommy? Every time I go into my room, I hear a snake hissing."
"There's no snake, O." He goes back to check.
"I turned the light on, okay?"
"That's fine, bud. I think your door is maybe just making a noise."
He goes to try his door, comes back. "I think it's just me thinking about a snake and making that hissing noise in my head." He puts his finger to his temple as if thinking hard, whispers "hiss" to himself, nods, and then leaves as if extremely satisfied with this explanation.
N's newest word is "Kelcum." As in, "Kelcum, Ma" when she puts a toy back where it belongs, after she hands me a cup that has fallen on the floor, after she deposits a wet diaper into the trash. Good manners, already.