Me: Did you tell me this morning that you wanted to clean the house today?
AK: No. I did not say that. You must have mis-erstood me.
C: Look Mommy. You have a lot of names!
(Hands me a paper where she has written...
Jana
Mom
Babe)
AK: I'm as hungry as a mouse who eats all the cheese in the world but he did not eat in...in EVER. I'm as hungry as that mouse.
Me: Claire, will you go help AK clean her room? I mean, you don't have to actually clean it with her, but maybe just help her know how to clean it. Give her ideas like picking up her dirty clothes, or putting her blankets on her bed.
A few minutes later, Claire comes marching back into the living room.
C: I can't help her. She's being unreasonable.
Me: What do you want in your oat bran this morning?
AK: Muffins.
Me (before bedtime): Do you have your pull-up on for the night?
AK: I don't need a pull-up. I'm 26.
Owen is not using many words yet but he still has a lot to say...
Lately he has been testing the waters when it comes to obedience. At AK's gymnastics, he knows he is not supposed to leave the carpet and go onto the mats where the gymnasts are practicing. Tonight he would walk to the edge of the carpet and look at me. I would shake my head and say, "No, Owen." And he would consider the risk and most often go ahead and step onto the mat. Each time he did this I would walk over to him, pick him up and move him, and give him just a slight pinch on the arm as a negative consequence. It got to where he would look at me, step off the carpet onto the mat, and immediately scrunch his nose, say "Ow!" and pinch his own arm.
Owen thinks that Papa lives outside his window. One night Spencer and Papa were working on cutting down a tree outside of Owen's room, and they were still working when Owen went to bed. When he woke up the next morning the first thing he said to me was "Daddy. Papa." and pointed to his window. Now every time we go into his room he repeats that and has to look out the window to see.
Also, he thinks that Spencer is everywhere we go. Every time we get out of the van in a parking lot, he searches for a white truck or a small gray car and cries out, "Daddy!!!"
Twice this week I have walked into the kitchen to find Mr. Owen standing on a stool digging into either biscuit dough or brownie batter from the bowls that I had left sitting on the counter.
