Sometimes I Cry Too

Today we were at a Christmas brunch where there was a 15 month old baby. The baby started to cry at one point, and Milo walked over to her and said, "Sometimes I cry too." This is my favorite thing he's said yet.

Here are some pictures from the past month:


Making phone calls the old fashioned way at the Marine Air Terminal en route to Washington, DC.


Cousins Max and Milo.


Sunset at the Capitol.


Smiley baby Max.


Checking out the holiday windows at Saks.


Reading in his chair.

C is for Cupcake

Slow News Day

Things have been slow on this blog lately, for a variety of reasons. For starters, I've discovered that when I have an essay idea it behooves me to try to sell it first, rather than posting it for free. Also, I'm working on a baby-related proposal, so pretty much all my Milo-musings are going into the proposal right now. Also, I haven't been feeling all that creative lately, and rather try to force it by writing a lot of boring crap I'd rather just wait until the juice turns on again.

So... please bear with me as I try to figure out exactly what I want to do with this space.

Housekeeping at Twenty Five Months

Dear Milo,
A month ago you turned two, but only in the last few weeks have you actually entered the Terrible Twos, and the future does not look good. Your default word used to be "yeah." You said it instead of silence, when you didn't understand something, when you didn't know what else to say. Now your default word is "no" followed by your favorite phrase, "I dowanna," occasionally articulated more like "I don't WANT to.

"Let's put your shoes on, Milo."
"No."
"Do you want to go to the playground?"
"No."
"You don't want to go to the playground?"
"Yes. Yes playground."
"Then we need to put your shoes on."
"No shoes. I dowanna. NO MORE SHOES."
"Well then no playground."
"Yes playground."
"Okay, then we need to put your shoes on."

And so it goes until I remember to say the following: "There is no more discussion. You are putting your shoes on and we are going to the playground, or you are having a time out. Those are your choices. Which one do you want? Shoes or time out?"

At which point you always readily agree to shoes. And then yesterday you gave your bee a time out because he touched the vacuum cleaner.

"We have to take all the toys out of the crib," you said to the bee. "Time out."

Ah, the golden time out. What a great invention.

You've also become a little sneaky in your old age. Yesterday Dad's friend Sam came over with Lisa and new baby Ella. You promptly took Sam into the playroom and showed him your toys. Then you showed him the big mop and the big broom in the utility closet and suggested subtly that he should get them for you. Not knowing that the big mop and broom are off limits, Sam quickly obliged. When we later took them away from you and put them back in the closet, five minutes later you were standing next to Lisa, asking her to get them for you. Sneaky! And yet ... a little charming too.

We are trying to teach you to read a little bit, since you somehow already know all the letters and the sounds they make, but your obstinance gets in the way. This weekend I spelled out C-A-T on the refrigerator and asked you what the word was.

"Pickle," you said. Pickle is your joke word. For some reason you think that answering pickle or pickles and onions to almost any question is hilarious. Truthfully, you're not totally wrong.

Only after I bribed you with a Kit Kat bar did you read the word. Correctly. At this rate you will become simultaneously literate and diabetic.

No one ever said it would be easy. For either of us.

Love,
Mama