Last week, Seth made me the happiest mommy in the world. He patted my shoulder and said, "Mommy." I almost said, "Yes, I'm Mommy," but he continued to pat my shoulder and said, "Wuv you, Mommy." Yup, I cried.
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Seth warmed my heart the other day when he patted the bed next to him and asked me to "lie down." Correct grammar! Happy mommy.
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We got Seth a dog a couple of months ago. Noni. Here's a pic.
She a mix: Newfoundland lab and chow. Three years old. I'm not really into dogs (or any animal, for that matter), but I guess I'll do anything for Seth.
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Seth has graduated from saying "yeah" to saying "yes." Not sure why the sudden change.
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Personally, I dislike waiting for videos to load, but I promise you: this video is worth it.
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Darn funny,
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The other day (specifically, June 19 -- I'm behind in my blogging), Seth surprised the heck out of me and made me such a proud mama. We were on our way to Grandma's house when he looked out the window and said, "Two trucks." And sure enough, there were two trucked parked in the field!
He hasn't figured out "one" or "three" yet, but if there's two of something, he'll tell you. :)
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This is the one I made for Seth's birthday at Nana and Papa's house. That's an oyster on top. Honest...
This is the one I made for Seth's birthday at Grandma and Grandpa's house.
What can I say. They were made with love.
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Here's that eighteen-month well-baby visit I mentioned in another post:
We arrived and three siblings were playing with the toys in the corner. Seth was thrilled. Kids! He rushed right over, and the two older ones (about three and five) were taken with him and started leading him around. The three year old started hacking up a lung, and that's when I realized one important fact about well-baby visits: Not all the kids are there for them.
What's worse, the mother was chatting on the cell phone, and I overheard her say, "Yeah, we're at the doctor's office. The nine month old has a terrible rash all over her body." What? The kid who is hacking up a lung is not even the reason you're here? The child crawling on the floor next to my son has a weird rash?
I vowed never again to go inside early so that Seth could play with the toys.
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Seth is 36 inches tall and weighs 29 pounds, 9 ounces. He's in the 70th percentile for weight and the 90th percentile for height. Big boy. I have birthday party photos to post, but I haven't managed that just yet. Heck, I have a draft post about his eighteen-month visit that I never even finished. (90th percentile height and 40th percentile weight.) So yeah, I'm behind.
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Our house is infested with mosquitoes this year. We don't know where they're coming from. It's bad enough to prompt us to wear mosquito repellent indoors.
And poor Seth. He was eaten alive the night before last. I put him to sleep without any pants on. He hates sleeping in pants. I thought he was wearing repellent, but Bob had cleaned him up with a washcloth, so this means that I sent the child, half naked, into a cloud of mosquitoes to be chewed up and spit out.
Yesterday, in additional to all his mosquito bites, he got stung by a bee—to be more specific, probably by a hornet or yellowjacket (although yellowjackets are said to typically sting repeatedly, whereas this one stung once and tried to fly away). I feel terrible because I'd been on my cell phone and not watching him closely, even though he was standing right next to me. :(
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I don't want to limit Seth by assuming he can't do something, but I still find myself underestimating him all the time.
And I always say I'm going to stop underestimating him (and little kids in general), but he still manages to surprise me. Take birds. He watches the birds eating from the feeders outside our window, and he can correctly identify finches, mourning doves (he just says "doves"), and woodpeckers (he calls them "peckers" -- love it). He also recognizes humming birds, but he thinks they're "peckers," I guess due to the long beak. We're also working on red breasted grossbeaks. "Grossbeak" is a pretty hard word to say, though, and we don't see too many of them, so it might take awhile. Or maybe I'm just underestimating him again...
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Seth seems to think that flying bugs are called fuzzies. We have a wasp problem in our porch. As he watched one flying around, he kept saying, "Fuzzy!" (Fuh-ZEE!) He said the same thing the other night when we were driving home and he spotted some moths in the headlights.
I have no idea where the word come from, but I love it.
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Seth thinks that "thank you" means, "Please take this." I guess he got that idea because whenever he handed something to someone, they said, "Thank you." Before long, he started saying "thank you" as he handed something to someone else.
Just now, he was in another room calling, "Thank you. Thank you!" -- which meant, "Mommy, please take this knitting needle."
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I feel somewhat like a responsible parent today, as I have just opened a 529 college savings account for Seth.
We went with Michigan's plan because it has low fees and for the tax advantages. It wasn't among Morningstar's top-five plans, but they did commend it for low fees and reasonable performance. Because we're Michigan residents, it tax deductible at the Federal and state level and we're also entitled to a small state match.
We thought hard about Michigans prepaid tuition plan (where you buy tomorrow's tuition at today's rates), but that limits Seth to a Michigan college and university. What if my little prodigy wants to go to MIT?
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Seth is on a chair at the sink playing with water and a few dishes. A moment ago I heard him say, "Drink. Ahhhh." I hadn't given him anything to drink. You may recall the last time that happened.
Fortunately, this time he hadn't been slurping down children's medicine. No, this time he was drinking from a beer bottle.
Just to be clear (no need to call Child Protective Services), he had put water into an empty beer bottle. I think you can see Daddy's stash of remaining empties on the counter. 
UPDATE: The Dilbert site allows readers to rewrite the comic strips to make them funnier. I should do the same for my blog. Here's Sherri's take:
Is there an age limit on AA meetings? Imagine my surprise as I peered over to find my two year old swigging down what appeared to be a bottle of beer! Damn that Baby's Daddy for leaving these old bottles lying out on the counter like that... Rest assured, however, that Seth was smart enough to fake Mommy out by filling the bottle with water. I think he's quite the genius, wouldn't you say??She's funny, no? :)
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Warning: The post below describes my horrifying housekeeping habits. Read at your own risk.
A few years ago, we bought a dishwasher, and I was so happy that for the next three months, I did the dishwasher dance whenever I thought about it.
When we moved into the new house, no dishwasher. Today, almost every dish is dirty. They're heaped up on every counter surface. Last night I gave Seth a drink of milk from a measuring cup. Yes, it's true. Now you know just how bad of a mother I am. I made my child drink from a measuring cup. Sure, my kitchen is not as bad as those people on that show, "How Clean is Your House," but it's still pretty bad.
Well, things are looking up. Today my MIL bought us a brand new dishwasher for $30 at a garage sale. And a brand new garbage disposal for $20.
Sing with me. Oh, happy day...
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When Seth hurts himself, he says, "Sorry," or sometimes, "Ouch! Sorry." It's really cute.
He's not actually apologizing to himself. You see, if Daddy or I hurt him by accident—for example, a couple of days ago I was rounding the corner with Seth in my arms and I ended up bumping his head against the corner—we naturally say, "Oh, Seth! I'm sorry." And we hug him and kiss it and make it better.
So now Seth thinks "sorry" means, "It hurts!"
Slightly related: He thinks "heavy" applies to any activity that is difficult. So if, for example, I'm struggling to open a jar of pickles, he'll say, "Hovy!" That's how he pronounces it.
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Not sure how to spell it, but it rhymes with "pushed." (Update: Well, whataya know. It's a real word that can be pronounced to rhyme with "pushed" or with a regular "oo" sound, like "boo.")
Two nights ago, Seth squeezed in between Bob and me on the loveseat and, apparently, one of us shifted our weight and started to squish the poor little guy. "Squooshed!"
It's quite a versatile word, too, because the next morning I zipped his zipper way up under his chin. Seth hates that, but it was coooooold outside, so mommy instincts took over. He promptly cried, "Squooshed! Squooshed!" I relented.
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Yesterday he bit me. Can you believe it? My sweet baby boy bit me, and even though it was through my t-shirt, he broke the skin. And then he seemed genuinely surprised by my reaction.
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It had already been a very hard night for Seth last night, and at 2 AM, moments after he finally fell asleep, I couldn't leave well enough alone. He was holding a little truck that plays songs. I didn't want it to wake him, so I took the truck out of his hands and set it aside. In the process, I accidentally pressed my arm against his face and woke him.
Exhausted and distraught, he started screaming. I mean, screaming. He really wasn't even awake. Did I trigger a nightmare? Then he started thrashing, and wham! the back of his head smashed into my nose.
Instant tears. "Owwwwwwww!" I half shouted, half growled. It hurt like the devil. I jumped up. Did he break my nose?
I ran into the hallway. Bob scrambled out of bed.
"What happened?"
"He head-butted me!"
"Let me see."
I removed my hands, waiting for a gasp of horror or at least a look of surprise. Instead I got, "Yeah, it's bleeding."
Well, duh! These ain't red tears gushing into my hands.
Thankfully, I didn't say that. If I had, it would've been the pain talking.
I ran to the bathroom while Bob tended to a still-screaming Seth. I expected to see blood everywhere, but really, there was just a little bit on my hand. After the one initial gush, there was just a trickle. I was embarrassed that only seconds before I thought it was broken.
My nose is so sore. I never knew how often I absentmindedly I touch my nose. Do all people touch their noses this often, or am I just some kind of nose-touching, germ-spreading fiend?
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