When Toddlers Curse

In a matter of weeks Milo has moved from the aw-he's-talking-that's-so-cute stage of toddlerhood to the please-don't-say-anything-embarrassing stage. Sometimes his observations are innocuous enough - pointing at someone on a bike and saying "That man. Riding bike." - that sort of thing. People on the sidewalk seem a bit surprised to be pointed at and explained ("That woman. Running.") but it's not particularly embarrassing, just funny.

Then the other day Milo and I were walking down the street when he spied a woman in one of those ridiculously short dresses that are all the rage this summer. "That woman," said Milo. "Swimsuit." I sense that we are only a few short months away from loud questions like "Why is that man so fat?".

And then there is the cursing.

"Christ," Milo said the other day. In a happy coincidence, he said it in front of Jagoda, our Polish cleaning lady, and probably the only person we know who might be offended by such an invective. I was recounting this to Steven on Saturday while we were driving to Fairway.

"Where would he get that?" Steven asked. Followed quickly by "Jesus Christ, did you see the way that guy cut me off?"

"Jesus Christ!" Milo chirped from the back seat. "Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ." And then, for good measure he followed it with "Fuck off!".

But the most embarrassing display of language thus far has to be the following. Let me preface the story by explaining that a few nights prior, while sound asleep, I hit Steven in the face, at which point we both agreed it was time to get a king sized bed. So we went to 1-800-mattress to pick out a new bed. We'd spent about twenty minutes jumping on different mattresses, testing them out, and simultaneously trying to keep Milo from "checking email" on the store's computer, when suddenly Milo walked to the center of the store and said very loudly and clearly so everyone in the store could understand him: "POOPING!".

Vacation Recap

Milo Dusts the Backyard, and other greatest hits from last week up on Flickr.

Park Slope Lite: Vacation Edition

So it turns out that if you take a super fancy toddler bike to the North Fork, half the people will stare at you and comment. The other half are all from Park Slope anyway, and they'll ask if you bought the bike at that place on Fifth Avenue across from Lulu's Haircuts. [Yes, we did.]

Greenport, NY is like Park Slope lite. So much so, in fact, that Milo has had more playdates here than he usually has at home. Yesterday we went on the carousel with our neighbors from upstairs, Jack (who is Milo's age almost exactly) and his older brother Sebastian ('Bastian, as Milo calls him). Milo had previously gone on the carousel in Prospect Park with me. He's been into it ("Oh boy! Oh boy!") until it actually started to move, at which point he screamed "ALL DONE!" repeatedly and clung to my neck until the carousel stopped.

But yesterday Sebastian took Milo's hand and said, "Come on Milo, I'll show you how to ride the carousel." Milo obediently followed Sebastien into a sleigh chair, sat down, and happily rode the carousel without so much as a peep. He is a little obsessed with Sebastian, did I mention that? If Sebastian says it's okay, then it's okay.

This morning we hooked up with a playgroup on an organic goat farm. Yes, that is correct. The kids played (organically) and fed (organic) goats and picked (organic) tomatoes. And we learned that Milo is very good at spotting ripened tomatoes on the vine, leading us to believe that maybe he isn't color-blind after all.

On the way back from the organic vegetable-fest/playgroup we stopped to pick raspberries and eat roasted corn. As Milo was having his way with a fresh ear of corn someone came over to me and said, "Hana?"

Turned out to be someone I used to work with eons ago, out on the North Fork with his own toddler, compulsively checking his Blackberry, because as I said, this is Park Slope lite, and we may be out in the country with the organic pygmy goats, but we are not at all far from New York.

In The News

Well this does not bode well for future flights with Milo.

Day 3 And Counting

I have been singing the following song lyrics in my head for three days now, courtesy of Dan Zanes:
Low bridge, everybody down.
Low bridge, everybody down.
And you always know your neighbor, you always know your pal,
if you've ever navigated on the Erie Canal.

Milo doesn't even like this song. He likes:
I love you
A bushel and a peck
You bet your pretty neck I do.

He requests it by saying "Bushelpeck!"

But no matter, I am stuck singing the Erie Canal song, which always conjurs up images of my 4th grade music class, which I think is when I initially learned the song. It was part of some kind of misguided attempt to educate us about American history through music. Or something like that. It's such a depressing song, in a sad, minor key, it always made me think that navigating the Erie Canal sounded like a nightmare.

And then I lived in Syracuse, NY briefly, which is very close to the Erie Canal, and I vaguely remember going to some kind of Erie Canal museum. What I learned was that everyone navigating the Erie Canal was depressed because they were in SYRACUSE.

Words And Phrases Milo Knows That Weren't Invented Yet When I Was A Kid

Check email
iPod
Cell phone
Noble (for Barnes and Noble)
Starbucks
Elmo
Noggin (alas, I have succumbed)

Also, he has a computer that says "Your blog is awesome!"

Housekeeping at Twenty Months

Dear Milo,

Hi. What's up? If I were having an actual conversation with you you'd probably point and say "sky!" or maybe "airplane!" So ... um ... you're doing great. But, one little thing. The separation anxiety is killing me. Seriously killing me, as in causing me great stress and probably shortening my lifespan.

This weekend Dad and I made the egregious mistake of going out to dinner and leaving you at home with someone you have known since you were 2 months old. How could we! As you saw us getting ready to leave you let out howls of despair and nearly choked on your dinner. I walked over to you and said, "See you later alligator" which is what all the books say you're supposed to say to show the levity of the situation, and that leaving isn't a big deal, blah blah blah.

You didn't buy it for a second. You pointed an angry finger at the chair where I usually sit while you eat dinner and yelled "MAMA SIT DOWN!" It wasn't a plea, more like a dictatorial edict. I kissed you on the top of your head and Dad and I left. You were not amused.

In other news, you and I took a trip just the two of us this month, and you had a great time on the plane. Your favorite part? Reading the emergency instructions pamphlet. I tried to get you to read it yourself, but no.

"Mama read it."

End of story.

I must have read that pamphlet about 43 times each way. Did you know that remote controlled cars are not allowed on planes? Well I do. I also know that when one is crash landing you're supposed to put your head between your knees, and that high heels and briefcases are not allowed on the life rafts.

The other thing you keep talking about from the plane ride was the animal crackers. And the chips. You don't get to eat those things at home, so that was pretty exciting to you. Although in general you tend to remember food. Yesterday we had a playdate with a little girl who brought her own pretzels. When I asked you later in the day what we'd done that morning you said, without hesitation: "pretzel".

Other than that, this month has been so much fun because you talk up a storm. You constantly narrate, and you also like to sing songs to yourself and dance. You're dancing is freakin' hilarious. I'm trying to capture it on video, but every time I turn on the video camera you insist on stopping whatever you're doing to watch yourself on video. Your favorite songs right now are "Twinkle Twinkle" and "Row, Row Row Your Boat" - both of which you can sing to yourself (although you only manage to get out every third word or so) - and you like it when I sing pretty much anything with a quick beat. Slow songs, not so much.

Also, this month you've started trying to add pronouns, but you don't yet understand the difference between "me" and "you". Frankly, I'm not sure that you understand that Milo and Mama are two different people, since sometimes you refer to me as "Mi-yo" and yourself as "Mama", but that aside, you are constantly saying things like "help you" or "ride your bike" or "come with you," where "you"=Milo. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.

Another thing you really enjoy doing is arguing. Did I mention this before? I can't say I'm shocked. Sometimes you'll point to a piece of cantaloupe and say "Mango."

"Cantaloupe," I'll correct.

"Mango!" you'll yell back, giggling.

"Cantaloupe! Cantaloupe!" I yell.

"Mango! Mango!"

It goes on like that for a while. Oh, good times.

Keep on arguing, little chicken. Some day maybe you'll be right.

Love,
Mama