Good morning yall! After my ranting on the Saylorville situation I figured I probably spoke a little too harshly and it's time for a lighter topic- Charles, who else?!
So here's what we're up to these days, Charlie is two and a half and up to no good. For one, Charlie HATES snow. Every day he wakes up and looks out his window he sinks a little deeper into his winter depression. He's very clear about the fact that he does NOT want to wear mittens, he does NOT want a single flake to touch his face, and the look on his face asks what kind of maniac intentionally rolls around in the stuff. I tell Andy that Charlie has my blood and we simply don't belong north of Kansas and that is that, but he's not buying it. We've been watching Duck Dynasty and Andy has quickly adopted the term coined by Si, "yuppie" into his regular vocabulary. I think I hate this as much as he did "weather alert," but I could be wrong. My poor son and I are constantly being nagged at for our winter blues. Charlie will only shuffle his boots in the snow, he won't actually pick his foot up off the ground for fear of slipping, so as you can imagine, it takes some time to get from the door to the truck. Sometimes I'll be inside and I'll hear Andy outisde saying, "come on you little yuppie... it's snow, not lava."
Andy begged the Lord for a son, and now against my manly husband's constant prodding, my little boy has taken up none other than professional shopping. As I finish getting ready in the bathroom upstairs in the morning, I'll hear him crack open his bedroom door and after checking if I'm indeed up he steps out, blankie in hand, and says, "Oh! Hiiiii mom." The inflection in his voice suggests he's perfectly shocked that of all people I happen to be at this mall today too and it's a crazy coincidence to see me here so very early. Of course he hasn't gotten any pants on (he insists on removing anything touching his diaper when he sleeps- he likes to chat with 'mickey mouf ' on the front of his diaper in the middle of the night, and when we switched up the brand and Winnie the Pooh graced the front of his diaper he started talking with "weenie and poohs"...........so we donated the rest of that diaper pack to daycare and switched back) After greeting his mother he marches his blankie and bare legs down the stairs and places one of three of his stuffed companions in his shopping cart, legs through the front holes. When he can't get their legs through the holes he gets frustrated and says, "No no baby, HEP ME HERE!" which I recognized as my same frustrated reaction when he doesn't help me put his legs through the shopping cart holes at the local grocery. Scary how they watch so closely. His three favorite tagalongs at the moment are good ol' Baby the Brazilian Aardvark, Elmo, or an African American Cabbage Patch doll we've named Becki, as we had an African American Friend in college and that was her name. Becki was a gift from one of my cousins, I stinkin love watching Charlie shop with Becki. Charles then starts strolling the aisles of our townhome for all the latest deals and big buys- hips sashaying back and forth all the way. I'm not positive but I think my dear hubby loses sleep over this.
Charlie does the tractor thing and will ask perfect strangers on our couch to roll up their pant legs so he can drive his hot-wheel cars around their knees, but nothing quite compares to a day of filling and emptying his cart with the same old crap as yesterday.
We had Charlie at the doctor the other day, just for a routine checkup, and she said he is growing very nicely- he's very tall. The one thing she mentioned is that she'd like him to really work on pronunciation and letter recognition, which I think is jumping the gun, but what do I know, I run a construction company. After she mentioned this though, things started coming to mind that might very well back-up what she was saying. For example, we've started attending a new church in Lakeville and we were pleasantly suprised by how much Charlie loved "Chuch!" He is in his first Sunday School class and the mother in me was warmed every time my little man asks me if he can go to church. Every time we'd get in the truck, Charlie would ask, "Mama chuch or Tishas?" Tisha is his version of Tricia, his daycare lady. After about a month of this, one of the couples we'd gotten to know a little at church invited us out to their farm for dinner. Andy and I were nervous about Charles being shy at first when we got there as we hadn't done much visiting since we relocated to the cities. We walked in the house and Mr. Carlberg opened the door and took Charlie's coat. Charlie got a glimpse of his face to which he lit up and put his chubby little fingers out for a handshake, (we truly don't make him do this) and to my demise, he yelled, "Oh! Hiiiiiiiiiii Chuch!"
Shoot.
So this was 'chuch.' His Sunday School teacher. Misunderstandings are normal in a house with a small person just learning to speak, but I was bummed. All night long Charlie would speak to and refer to Paul as Chuch. "Scoose me Chuch." "Tank you Chuch" We all got a good laugh, but maybe I do need to work with the little one on his pronunciation and comprehension, all in good time.
Anyway, every stage is fun for all new reasons and we thoroughly enjoy watching our little prince grow every day, I'll try to be better on posting his adventures. Have a great weekend yall!
